


Now I Want In

by TheTraderJoesParkingLot



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Also I just reread this whole thing and, And anxiety, Angst/Comfort, Bonding, Family Bonding, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like literally this starts during Jump in the Line, Nightmares, Okay I believe you, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Possible PTSD?, Post musical, Rock your body in time, SO MANY PLOT BUNNIES, Touch-starved Beej?, Touch-starved LYDIA, Trauma, no, ooh also depression, poor Lydia tbh, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTraderJoesParkingLot/pseuds/TheTraderJoesParkingLot
Summary: After the severely traumatic events that brought them all together, the brand new Maitland-Deetz household struggles to find their footing as a cohesive unit of five.If they thought living as a family of five was difficult, living as a family of six will be even harder.
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Charles Deetz & Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz, Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 91
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> This is my stab at a "post musical, BJ returns" fic. I always wanted to write this, but it came around a lot sooner than I thought it would after I got high while writing a one shot and I was able to expand off of it. 
> 
> Also spoiler alert the trash boi returns, but I'm going to take my time to get there, because I feel like a lot of fics gloss over the trauma and awkward tension as the Deetzes and Maitlands learn to live with each other and I'm really gonna milk that because boy oh boy I want me some TRAUMA AND ANGST AND SOME GODDAMN FLUFFY BONDING. We gotta give our fave lil fam some time in the spotlight before bug man comes in and steals it. (Also idk how exactly I want him to return but we'll get to that later)
> 
> With further ado, Now I Want In. Kudos/comments are appreciated and give me serotonin!

“Let’s clean up.”

An upbeat tune drifted in from the record player. Barbara smiled at her husband as they went to the closet to retrieve cleaning supplies. Adam, always a go-getter, fetched the mop and bucket while Barbara selected a simple yet multipurpose rag, giving her the ability to be of assistance wherever she was needed. Whether it was out of newfound joy or the subconscious repressing of fresh emotional trauma, they all began to hum and sing along to the bright, cheery song that Lydia had so carefully selected. With a playful look, Adam first caught Barbara’s eye, then Lydia’s, who smiled at the two with delighted confusion. Her jaw dropped in wonder as she floated effortlessly in the air, thanks to the Maitlands. As everyone laughed in amazement, Barbara could just make out what Lydia had whispered to herself:

_“Mama, if you’re listening, doesn’t this just blow your mind?”_

Barbara smiled as she and Adam let the girl down so the cleanup could continue. Delia swept as Adam followed close behind with the mop, and Charles, with feather duster in hand, joined Barbara in cleaning off the dust and debris that had settled around the room. As a hesitant invitation, Charles outstretched his hand towards Barbara, who smiled at him and took it. As he twirled her, Barb could see Delia and Adam on the other side of the living room, bobbing along to the music like two chaperones at prom. Laughing to herself, she gave Charles a playful hip bump for good measure, who met her with the same hip bump and laughter at the spectacle before them. Lydia, who found herself in the middle of all this, was happy. Really, truly, happy. She was home.

The vigor and energy between the new household of five began to fizzle out, the record player still surrounding the group in uplifting melodies. Charles huffed as he rested his hands on his hips, surveying the room. The first floor was now free of most of the dust, dirt, and grime it had accumulated over the course of the past few days, with everyone working diligently to scrub out the last few remnants of… him. His gaze fell on his daughter, who despite her small, pale frame, possessed an undying amount of strength, just like her late mother. As she frantically rubbed at a stubborn stain on the wall, Charles caught sight of the dark circles under her eyes. For as stressful as a day as this had been for him, it was an even more stressful _several_ days for Lydia. Striding over, he tenderly grasped her shoulders, snapping her out of her trance-like state. She smiled up at him. God, that smile. She had him wrapped around her little finger from day one.

“Well,” Charles called over the music. Delia, who was giggling at something the Maitlands had said with a wave of her hand, turned towards her fiancé. Adam and Barbara straightened, eagerly focused on Charles.

“This place is looking spotless, thanks to everyone’s hard work. I say we settle down for the night and get to know each other over some pizza. What do you guys think?”

A beat. Everyone looked to Adam and Barbara. Charles began to stammer an apology, but Lydia interrupted.

“Can ghosts eat?” she asked incredulously. Adam and Barbara glanced towards each other before Adam turned to the group with a casual shrug.

“Honestly, we don’t know. We, uh, haven’t really had the time to find that out yet. But you guys need to eat, and I wanna see if I can still pig out on pizza, so there’s only one way to find out. There’s this really great place right in town called Romano’s, and they claim they ship their water in from New York. I’ve never had authentic New York pizza, so I can’t vouch, but I think I know someone who can.” Adam elbowed Lydia, a playful lilt in his voice. “The number should be taped inside of the cabinet above the dishwasher.”

“Ah, yes, we, uh, we removed that when we painted the cabinets.” Charles admitted.

“Oh.” Adam uttered. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“But I can still look it up.” Charles replied, giving a little wave to the cell phone he had in his hand. “I say one plain pie and a side of garlic knots. Sound good?”

“Charles!” Delia chastised. “They can’t eat garlic.” She motioned towards the Maitlands. Lydia threw her head back and groaned.

“That’s vampires. Vampires can’t eat garlic. They’re just regular ghosts.”

“It’s fine.” Barbara cut in, exasperated. “It all sounds great, thank you.” She finished with a reassuring, appreciative smile. Charles gave a stiff smile back, excusing himself from the room to call in the order.

“I hope they’ll still deliver here.” Lydia noted, aside.

“What was that?” Delia asked.

“Nothing.” Lydia insisted. “You must’ve thought you heard something while you were busy thinking these two were vampires.”

“Hey!” Adam interjected. “How do you know we aren’t?” He bared his teeth and gave a hiss that was more akin to the air letting out of a tire. Barbara grimaced, joining in on Delia and Lydia’s laughter.

“Alright.” Lydia said, collecting herself. She titled her head, exposing the side of her neck, giving it an inviting double tap with her hand. “Some nice, fresh, AB negative blood. Come and get it.”

“On second thought, I think I’m good.”

“That’s what I thought.”

After Charles had to meet the delivery driver at the bottom of the hill and tip them extra so they would actually come to the door next time, the household of five was grouped around the table dishing out steaming pizza and indulgently greasy garlic knots. As they settled, Charles raised his glass.

“A toast, to our new household of five, and to my Lydia—incredibly driven, strong, determined, and resourceful. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Everyone echoed Charles’ sentiment and raised their glasses to their lips to take a drink. All eyes settled on the Maitlands as they each took a sip and paused, first glancing down at their own bodies, then at each other’s. After a moment, they smiled.

“Well, that’s promising!” Adam remarked.

So with that, everyone tucked into the meal slightly more at ease than they had been before. As the household chattered about colleges attended, sports played in high school (and it was determined, to Adam’s dismay, that drama club is not a sport), the sky outside faded into the dark haze of evening.

Lydia caught herself daydreaming, thinking about everything and nothing at all, staring out of the window as she swung her feet under her chair, just barely scuffing the floor. Her eyes scanned the sky, taking particular note at the spectacular shade of purple that came from the deep blue as it bled into the pink horizon. In a sudden, mad dash, she leapt up, grabbing her camera and bolting to the back door.

“I’ll be back in a minute!”

“Lydia, wh—”

_Slam._

She walked, listening to the crunch of the grass beneath her feet. Once in the middle of the yard, she stood, surrounded by the lullaby of crickets, the air chilling her throat as she inhaled. She brought her camera to her face, the _click_ disrupting the natural rhythm of the outdoors.

“Nice night.”

The delicate call didn’t startle Lydia, nor make her turn around. Although she knew someone would come outside to fetch her after her abrupt exit, she looked down, digging her boot into the ground, suddenly feeling foolish.

“Yeah.” She replied as footsteps drew near. Glancing to her left, she was met with the warm smile of her soon-to-be stepmom. She smiled back before retreating her gaze back down, then up towards the moon.

“The sky looked nice. I wanted a picture of it.” Delia hummed in recognition, her eyes also cast upwards. Lydia huffed. This whole “communication” thing can’t just stay between her and her father, can it?

“It felt important. How the sky looked. Tonight, especially.”

Delia hummed again. They stood for a few moments before Delia spoke again.

“Well, I’ll leave you, then. Under all this _importance._ ” She smiled earnestly. “Take your time.”

Lydia gave a gentle nod as Delia turned, strolling back inside. She stood, watching the as the purple expanded, first swallowing the pink, then surrendering to blue. Two blending into one. Taking another deep, steadying breath, she turned and withdrew inside.

Slowly turning the knob, she pushed the door open, being greeted by the sight of her dad and Delia cleaning up the pizza box and garlic knot container, and the Maitlands washing the dishes, standing hip to hip, whispering. She could get used to this.

“Hey, kiddo! Get any cool pictures?”

Adam’s chipper voice called her out of her daze. She turned to him, smiling.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Do you guys need any help?”

“No thank you, Lydia. We’re okay.” Barbara responded, smiling fondly at the girl. Lydia contemplated them for a moment, head cocking in confusion. Noticing this, they mirrored her, concern growing on their faces.

“Do you guys need to sleep?”

The couple glanced at each other. Lydia could feel Delia and her dad tense up from the other side of the room. She kept her eyes trained the Maitlands in order to help them save face.

“Well, uh, I don’t know.” Barbara finally remarked, growing self-conscious at the silence. “We haven’t really had the time since we—since everything happened—to figure it out.”

“But,” Adam started as he dried his hands, “If we can eat, then we can try to sleep!”

Charles and Delia looked at each other then back at the Maitlands, stammering. Adam held up his hands, a tense smile on his face.

“We can take the couch for the first few nights, if we even need it. Then we can figure something out from there.”

Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes flickered up and down quickly, observing the male ghost in front of him. On the shorter side, yet strangely confident and reassuring, with near perfect posture. Charles nodded and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by his daughter.

“They could have the attic! We cleaned up this whole floor in a few hours, so we could have the whole attic cleared tomorrow and we could make it look really nice. You guys can still keep your offices and they can have a whole floor to themselves.”

Charles exhaled again, slowly nodding as he processed the barrage of new information. Adam and Barbara dropped their shoulders and Delia closed her eyes and smiled, rubbing at her temple.

“My girl, always with the clever ideas. Where did you get all that intelligence from?”

“Uh…” Lydia pondered with a sly smile, tapping at her chin. “Not from you, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, haha.” Charles replied. “Something tells me you got your sense of humor from the same place you got your smarts from. Now why don’t you get washed up for bed? This has been...a lot.”

Disgruntled murmurs of agreement filled the room. As much as Lydia had a few more quips up her sleeve, she welcomed the thought of a warm, steamy shower.

“Whatever you say, daddy-o.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia retreated into the living room and stomped up the stairs. As she made it to the second floor landing, she paused, surveying the continuation of stairs that stopped at the closed attic door. She smiled to herself before continuing on.

Once her in room, she swung the door closed behind her. Kneeling in front of her dresser, she yanked the bottom drawer open, retrieving black sweatpants and a charcoal gray “Lake George” sweatshirt, her thumb gently grazing the lettering on the front. The last place she had gone on vacation before Mom became Dead Mom. She brought the shirt up to her face, pressing it against her cheek. It felt warm, soft, and comforting, making her black dress feel cold and rough by comparison. She looked down at her current attire, noticing the tears in the hem of her dress and in her fishnet stockings, and the multitude of scuff marks and dirt on her boots. She kicked off her boots, leaving them in a heap in front of her dresser to be dealt with another time.

She sauntered across the hall and into her bathroom, flicking on the light and dropping her change of clothing onto the floor. Facing the mirror, her breath caught, taken aback by the reflection that met her. Dark purple circles contrasted her pale face and bloodshot eyes. Her hair, while usually in a somewhat unkempt, nonchalant bob, was even more unkempt, tangled and tattered, only to be greasily matted down on the top of her head. She bared her teeth, examining the outlines of plague that were clinging around her gum line. Her lips were cracked and rough. Had they been bleeding?

She grabbed her hairbrush and was met with painful resistance as it passed through her hair. Working the brush through, she made her way to the back of her head. Unsurprisingly, the brush stopped, but this time didn’t pass through with Lydia’s forceful coercion. She yanked. Nothing. She yanked harder. Still nothing. She took the brush out and tried again, this time even harder. Still nothing. Why is she crying? She removed the brush and tried again with as much force as she could muster. This time, however, her hand slipped off the brush, her elbow slamming into the adjacent wall.

_“Fuck!”_

“Lydia, are you okay?”

Clutching her throbbing elbow, she gazed into the mirror, weeping at her reflection, the hairbrush handle protruding from the back of her head, still stuck in her rat’s nest of hair. Removing it, she wiped her eyes and swallowed. _Don’t let your voice crack, don’t let your voice crack, don’t let your voice crack._

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A little more tense of a response than she hoped for, but still pretty nonchalant. Nice.

“Are you sure? Did you drop something?”

“No, I just bumped my elbow. I’m fine.”

“Can I come in?”

Lydia sighed. _Communication._

“Sure.”

The door opened and Delia peeked in, eyes darting from Lydia’s face, to the hairbrush, and back to Lydia’s face. She smiled.

“Your hair giving you a hard time?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Need help?”

If it can stop her from sobbing over a fucking hairbrush, then she might as well.

“Sure.”

Delia opened the door fully to let herself in as Lydia passed her the brush and turned towards the mirror. A firm hand grasped the bundle of hair at the back of Lydia’s head as the brush made its way through, but not without struggle. Lydia almost laughed to herself imagining what Delia would say next: _As my guru Otho always says, if eyes are the windows to the soul, then hair is the curtains, and the curtains should always match the carpet._ But as Lydia glanced up into the mirror, she saw the redhead biting her lip and squinting her eyes, focused intently on the matted tangle on the back of her head. After a few moments, the brush passed effortlessly through her hair. Delia worked her way to the sides, and Lydia opened her mouth to stop her, but was pacified by the relaxing sensation of Delia’s slender fingers through her hair.

“There. All done!”

Lydia’s eyes flew open. When did she close them? 

“Your dad and I are up here getting ready for bed, and Adam and Barbara are downstairs. If you want, you can toss your dirty clothes out in the hallway and I’ll grab them for the laundry.”

“I do my own laundry. But thanks.”

“Oh. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” Delia smiled and let herself out, leaving the sound of the door latching gingerly in her wake. Lydia huffed, once again examining herself in the mirror. Her hair was still greasy and flat, but much more manageable.

Lydia peeled off her clothing and dropped each item into a heap on the floor. She preferred to stay doing her own laundry. No way she’d let Delia see her underwear. She would probably try to get her to go to places like Victoria’s Secret. Lydia much rather preferred her Walmart underwear, thank you very much. No need for lace, or frills, or whatever else. All that was necessary was to get the job done. It’s not like anyone was seeing her underwear, anyway.

She reached behind the shower curtain to turn the faucet, steam slowly filling up the room. She stepped in, her light skin turning red at the sudden heat, taking a breath as she plunged into the stream. Lydia turned to the shower caddy, rolling her eyes at whatever Bath and Body Works bullshit Delia had stocked in there. Curious, she decided to finally pick it up and examine it. _Sleep: Lavender Vanilla_ was scrawled in yuppie-ass cursive along the front. She flipped the cap and inhaled, the scent immediately filling her chest, making her feel light. Okay. Maybe not so bad after all. She lathered up her loofah and ran it along her body, taking note of each bruise that dotted her form. A deep purple welt on her shoulder, a yellowing splotch over her right hipbone, a hefty blue dot on her thigh. When did she scrape her knee?

Once out of the shower, she practically jumped into her fresh, clean clothes, her small frame disappearing into the baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt. She was never one for pajamas. None of that cutesy, put-together bullshit like all those pajama sets patterned with puppies or some dusty-ass flannel pajamas that some distant great aunt tried to give her one year for Christmas. Just oversized clothing she dug out of bins from a local thrift store or stole from her dad’s dresser. Nor was she one for hair care. A simple finger-brushing and hair flip was all she needed before she brushed her teeth and stepped out of the bathroom.

She swung her bedroom door open and jumped back, startled by her father sitting at the foot of her queen-sized bed, her quilt peeled back. He looked up at her sudden movement.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you got to bed okay.”

“What? Worried I’ll get lost?” Lydia quipped with a lopsided smirk. Charles, clad in plain black pajama pants and a white T-shirt, smiled and shook his head in response.

“No, just…you’ve been through a lot. I want to make sure you get your rest.” Silence. A moment passed before Lydia spoke up.

“Hey Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Can you invest in some pajamas so that you don’t look like you’re still wearing a suit? Maybe you should’ve kept that flannel that Aunt Karen dumped on me last Christmas.”

“It’s Aunt Carol.”

“Same shit.”

“You know, when you were little, you’d get really fresh when you were tired. But you usually called me a ‘poopy butt,’ not insult my personal clothing choices.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m just fresh all the time. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Only the luckiest.” With this, Charles looked into his baby girl’s eyes with earnest, smiling.

“What did you come in here to do, tuck me into bed?”

“Yes.”

Lydia finally relented, smiling. She trudged over and climbed into bed, her father pulling the covers over her. She curled into him as he reached an arm around her, his hand resting on her upper back.

“I’ll never forget the first time I took care of you alone after you were born. You were two months old and Emily finally felt well enough to go out with her friends for a few hours. It wasn’t too bad in the beginning. But then you started to cry, and you would. Not. Stop. I tried everything. I fed you, changed you, burped you, rocked you, hell, I even gave you a bath and took you on a twelve block round trip in your stroller. Nothing. You were breaking blood vessels in your eyes you were crying so hard and I was convinced you would go blind. I got home and I was so exhausted that I sat down in my recliner and just put you on my chest, hoping that I would think of something. You stopped immediately. And you just looked up at me. So I started to talk to you. And you hung onto every word I said. And then we fell asleep. For only about two hours before you woke up screaming because you were hungry again.”

“Is that when Mom took that picture? The one you keep on your desk?”

Charles blew a chuckle out of his nose. “Yes. She came home and that was the sight she was greeted with. Me passed out in my chair and you curled up on my chest like a little baby squirrel.” Lydia hummed in acknowledgement. A comforting silence hang in the air.

“Well, goodnight then, my little baby squirrel.” Charles reached down to plant a kiss on Lydia’s forehead. As he made his way out, she bolted up.

“Wait, what about the Maitlands?”

“Who?”

“Adam and Barbara! I should go tell them goodnight.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that that was their last name. Yes, they said to tell you goodnight. Delia told me to say the same. They all said not to worry, that they want you to rest up. Everyone will see you in the morning.” Lydia wanted to protest further, but a sudden wave of fatigue had settled around her.

“Oh. Okay. Goodnight.”

She laid back down, watching the sliver of light from the hallway recede and vanish from her ceiling as Charles closed the door. She heard his powerful footsteps grow quieter as he returned to his room down the hall. His room. _And_ Delia’s room. Gross.

Despite the boatloads of trauma she experienced on that day alone, Lydia still found herself tossing and turning, her eyes burning with exhaustion. She sighed as she turned to check her iPhone clock. 12:03. She tossed back her covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed before standing and carefully opening her door. She tiptoed out into the hallway and stood in the darkness, not exactly sure what her plan was. She sighed, turning back towards her room, only to stop in her tracks after she heard murmurs come from downstairs. Holding her breath, she crept down the staircase.

On the landing, she could make out the heads of the Maitlands peeking over the top of the couch. Craning her neck, she could just hear their whispers.

“…on the couch in our own home.”

“I know Barbara, I know.”

A piercing creak from Lydia’s weight on the banister broke their conversation, their heads snapping towards her direction. Urgently, Barbara wiped her face.

“Lydia, honey, are you alright?” she asked shakily.

“Were we keeping you up?” Adam questioned fearfully. Lydia smiled and shook her head at the fact that she had so foolishly given up her position, and traveled down the remaining stairs.

“No, I couldn’t sleep. Wanted to see if you guys were awake. Have you slept yet?”

“Not yet. But you can’t sleep, after everything you’ve been through? Are you sure you’re alright?” Adam asked, brows arching with concern.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She swayed where she stood, feeling stupid all of a sudden. Why she was even down here looking for them, intruding on a private moment, she had no clue. Adam and Barbara shared knowing glances. Lydia looked up at movement in her direction. She was face to face with Barbara, who placed one hand on the girl’s shoulder, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other, before resting it tenderly on her face. She smiled.

“Why don’t we bring you back up to your room?”

Lydia nodded, her voice stuck in her throat. Adam stood and joined the pair, smiling as he placed a hand of his own on Lydia’s other shoulder. He scrunched his nose playfully.

“Let’s go.”

Lydia took in the pair, each dressed in their own pajama set: Barbara’s was dotted with little Scottish Terriers, and Adam’s was a green and blue flannel, not unlike Aunt Carol’s infamous gift. Lydia stifled a chuckle before nodding and turning towards the stairs.

Only Lydia’s weight caused the stairs to emit soft creaks as the Maitlands trudged along behind her. She entered her room, Adam following her and Barbara pausing to shut her door gently. She sat up against her pillow, but Adam brought the covers up around her before she could reach for them herself.

“Do you want us to get you any water or anything?”

“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you.” Lydia answered, still feeling unsettled for some reason.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Uh, no. I’m, uh, I’m okay.”

“Do you want us to sit with you for a few minutes?”

Lydia’s gaze shot up. She looked up at Barbara, whose eyes glistened with warmth, even in the darkness. Her sad and all-knowing smile was framed by rosy cheeks. In even death, she looked so warm. So… _alive._ Lydia’s eyes trailed over to the hand resting on Barbara’s shoulder, then to Adam’s face. An excited smile sat below bright, cheerful eyes, eagerly awaiting her response. A response that was taking an awkwardly long time. She blinked hard, shaking herself out of her daze.

“Uh, sure.”

The Maitlands shifted silently towards the foot of the bed.

“You can sit next to me. I don’t mind.” Lydia blurted. The Maitlands shared glances. Fuck. Why was she being so needy? They didn’t want this. They didn’t want to be pulled into the orbit of the black hole that is Lydia Deetz. They wanted to be alive, and in their house, without someone else’s problems to deal with.

Lydia was snapped out of her intrusive thoughts by Barbara climbing onto the bed next to her, and Adam swinging his legs up as he sat along her other side. Barbara reached a comforting arm around the teen, and Adam did the same.

“I—I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey.” Adam whispered, pulling her closer. “None of that. It’s okay.”

Lydia nodded slowly, softening. Adam and Barbara softened too. Lydia let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The three sat in comfortable silence before Adam spoke up.

“Lydia?”

She hummed in acknowledgement.

“Have you ever been stargazing?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“We have a bunch of books up in the attic. I think you’d like it. We should try it sometime on a clear night now that it’s getting warmer.”

“I think I’d like that. How about tomorrow night?”

“We’ll see.” Adam replied. “I want to make sure you’ve recouped all your energy before we keep you up, especially with your grand idea to clean out the attic tomorrow. We’d be stargazing out there for a few hours. It’s cool to see how the stars move with the rotation of the Earth throughout the night.”

“We used to do it all the time when we were first married.” Barbara added sluggishly.

“Oh yeah? Why’d you guys stop?” Lydia inquired, her eyelids growing heavy. She felt Adam shrug.

“I don’t know. Just picked up another hobby, I guess. We did that a lot. Picked up all these new hobbies, and then dropped them a few weeks later. But I think it’s time to revisit this one. And I think we have a pretty great reason to keep it up.”

“Agreed.” Barbara added.

The couple looked down at the girl, whose eyes were closed, light pink lips parted slightly as her head drooped to one side. She looked so little in between them. And it was not too far after that they followed her into the warmth of slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Adam’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the beam of sunlight that was streaming in from the window. The beam settled on three pairs of legs: his, his wife’s, and… _Lydia’s_. Remembering where he was, and the events of the night prior, he immediately looked to his side. Everyone had shifted during the night. He had slumped further down into the bed, head and shoulders still propped up on the cast iron headboard. His wife was beautifully laid on her left side, her hand protectively gripping Lydia’s shoulder. And Lydia. She was also laying on her left side, curled delicately along Adam’s form, blankets bundled up around her, stopping at her baby pink lips. His hand was still on her back, strong and steady. He could feel her rise and fall as she breathed. He looked over to his wife, who remained still, her body unmoving. After a moment, Adam rested his head back on the headboard, not wanting to disturb the peace, and not minding the stable pressure of Lydia’s body as she slept alongside him.

It wasn’t long, however, before Adam heard the sounds of life from downstairs. Delia and Charles. They would be wondering why he and his wife were absent from the couch. Carefully, Adam removed his hand from Lydia’s back, rising and tiptoeing through the room. He took a final glance at the pair of ladies, smiling and wishing he could stay, before softly shutting the door.

Sensing a presence, Delia and Charles, standing over the couch, turned their heads as Adam made his way down. The three exchanged smiles, Charles still dressed in his ready-for-business pajamas, and Delia sporting a bright, silken, purple robe.

“Good morning!” Delia broke the silence. “We were wondering where you went. Did you guys get any sleep?”

“Morning! Yeah, yeah, we did, actually. Felt nice.”

“Where did you go?” Charles questioned, carefully side-eyeing the ghost. Adam sighed.

“Well, Lydia came down last night, a few minutes after midnight, and—”

“Was she alright?” Charles urgently cut in.

“Well, she said she was, no matter how many times we asked her, but…something still seemed off. We didn’t want to push it, so we brought her back up to her room, and we decided to sit with her for a few minutes. One thing led to another, and Barbara and I ended up falling asleep. But not before she did, thankfully.”

Charles hummed in acknowledgement with his eyes trained thoughtfully on the floor, nodding his head before Adam continued.

“When she came downstairs, she seemed lost, like she didn’t even…”

_“Know what she wanted.”_

The two spoke at once. Adam looked up, matching Charles’ hesitant smile and nodding.

“She does that.” Charles affirmed. “She’s been doing that ever since Emily first got sick. She’d get all nervous, needing something but being afraid to ask for it. So she’d just stand there…”

“Swaying?”

“Swaying, exactly, yes. But no matter how much you tried to get to the bottom of what was bothering her, she wouldn’t let you figure it out.”

“Sounds about right.”

Charles hummed a chuckle.

“But, uh, thank you for helping her. Lord knows she needs her sleep after…everything.”

“Of course.” Adam replied.

“Well!” Delia sang. “I’m going to make some pancakes, if anyone’s interested.”

Adam stammered a reply, but she waved him off.

“Don’t be silly. I’m making a bunch, just for whoever’s hungry. Calories don’t count for you anymore, Adam, so you might as well take advantage!”

With Charles’ booming laughter, Adam smiled, relenting and following the pair into the kitchen, planning to highlight the physical talent needed for drama club, hoping they would change their minds from the previous night’s ruling.

Back upstairs, Lydia stirred as she came to. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she urgently turned her head, being met by the sight of Barbara. If angels existed (and having been to the Netherworld, Lydia was pretty sure they didn’t) Barbara would’ve been recruited as one. Golden waves surrounded her face like a halo of light, her rosy lips curled into the smallest and most delicate smile. Indulgently, Lydia laid her head back down and turned, slowly letting Barbara’s hand slide off her shoulder and onto the bed. Facing the ghost, she scooted closer, gently gripping Barbara’s awaiting hand, and closed her eyes.

Not long after, Barbara’s eyes hazily blinked open, melting immediately at the sight before her. Sliding her thumb out of Lydia’s embrace, she gently rubbed it along the girl’s hand, feeling her soft, warm skin. At this, Lydia’s eyes opened.

“Sorry, hun.” Barbara began, startled, halting her movement immediately. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Lydia quietly hummed, her voice cracking from sleep. “I was already awake.”

“Did you sleep okay?” Barbara asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Great, actually.”

“Looks like you guys will have a use for the attic after all.”

At that, the pair heard laughter bubble up from downstairs. Barbara sighed.

“I guess we should see what they’re up to?”

“I guess.”

Both sat up at the same time, smiling at one another.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” Lydia said, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ll meet you down there.”

The smell of fresh pancakes beckoned Barbara into the kitchen as she glided down the stairs.

“No, I’m serious. We had one of the senior running backs dripping in sweat halfway through the first act of _Grease_ my sophomore year. He said it was more intense than any game of football he’s ever had to play.”

Adam’s insistence of drama club being a sport made Barbara laugh out loud as she leaned in the doorway. At this, everyone turned.

“Morning, honey! Come have some pancakes. Delia said our calories don’t count anymore, so I’m taking advantage!”

Barbara looked up at Charles and Delia, who equally matched her smile with their own.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she shook her head at the two, finding her way to her seat and using her fork to grab a pancake for herself. Just then, Lydia bounded into the doorway, already dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved, formfitting black shirt.

“None of you are dressed yet? We have to get the attic done today!”

Charles took a very long inhale and a very long exhale before smiling to himself and looking up at the ceiling. “Eat first.” He demanded kindly.

“I’m not hungry.”

All four adults cocked their heads in concern. Yikes. She can’t get away with anything like that anymore.

“Actually, I—I’ll have one.” She sat down, eyes darting between the four adults as she grabbed a pancake, settling down to dig in. Charles smiled, giving a sly wink to the others. If they can help him have additional leverage over his daughter for her own good, he could definitely get used to this. First she got a full eight hours of sleep, and now she’s having a well-rounded breakfast? Two miracles, and it’s not even nine in the morning.

“So,” Charles began, overjoyed at his newfound victories. “I was just about to tell Adam that we have some extra furniture down in the basement. An extra bed, a couch, a TV, all furniture that Delia and I couldn’t decide between when we were first staging the house for Maxie Dean. And I know it’s not exactly your taste, so Delia said she would run to the hardware store in town to get some paint and stuff so we could all fix it up to your liking, if that’s alright.”

The Maitlands turned towards each other, then nervously back to Charles. Barbara spoke first, turning towards Delia.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to go out of your way.”

“Nonsense.” The redhead began. “I think a few of our décor items could use a makeover, now that I think about it, so I’d be doing us all a favor.”

“So it’s settled then.” Charles interjected. “We start immediately after breakfast.”

Barbara, clad in overalls with a baby blue T-shirt, huffed as she looked up from the box she was currently organizing. Lydia and Delia were each leaned over a box of their own, organizing the contents to prepare for donation. Adam and Charles, on the other hand, were knelt over a wooden, Victorian-styled bedframe, which was placed in the corner next to the door, underneath a sunny window. Aside from short bits of conversation and the occasional buzz from the drill that Adam was teaching Charles how to use, the attic was silent. Barbara tilted her head, mulling over the bedframe. Not exactly gaudy, but still a bit too showy for her taste. Elaborate curves ran along the top of the frame, which, along with the matching night tables, were painted with a glossy black finish, casting a stark contrast against the natural, mid-tone wood paneling of the attic. Her gaze shifted to the center of the floor, where a sleek gray couch sat amongst an equally sleek and equally gray coffee table and TV stand, all of which were balanced on curved legs that matched the style of the bedframe.

“I know. Horrendous, isn’t it?”

Barbara jumped, startled out of her thoughts, and turned towards Delia, who met her with a smile as she sealed up her box.

“We were originally going to go with a ‘modern Victorian’ theme, but then we decided to drop the ‘Victorian’ and stick with the ‘modern.’ But I think it’s a much more suitable style for you two until we get you guys something else.”

“No, no,” Barbara huffed, dusting off her hands. “It’s perfectly fine, really. I was just…thinking. Taking a break from packing up the box, is all.”

Delia hummed, nodding her head slowly as she, too, surveyed the furniture.

“Any idea what color you’ll paint it?”

Barbara looked towards Adam, who shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she began. “Maybe white?”

Delia hummed again, tapping her finger against her chin as she peered around the room.

“That’s a good idea. Bright colors are better for a smaller space. Makes it feel roomier. But can I suggest something?”

The Maitlands shared glances and shrugs once again.

“Sure!” Adam chimed as he stood. “Anything!”

“I think you guys should go with an off-white, or even a light beige. I think it’ll go better with all the natural wood up here.”

The Maitlands glanced around the room before sharing a look and smiling.

“That’s a great idea, Delia.” Barbara smiled earnestly. “Thanks.”

Delia matched her smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure.”

Charles rose and strode over to his fiancée, wrapping an arm around her waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. Lydia, who had been watching the conversation silently, exhaled as she turned back to her box.

“Yes, Delia has quite a knack for interior design. She designed every room in the house, even if you may not agree with the drastic turn we took from your style.”

Adam shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

“Not really.” Delia sighed. “I was so focused on impressing Maxie Dean for Charles that I forgot about actual comfort and livability. The current décor is quite an assault on the senses, and it’s not good for my vibes.”

The remaining adults nodded, pretending they understood Delia’s _vibes_.

“So that’s why I’d like to get to the store so we could all give this house a makeover in the coming days, which reminds me…”

Delia checked her phone clock.

“We should really be running to the store if we want the paint on our furniture to dry by tonight, and Charles and I could grab everybody some lunch while we’re out. Sound good?”

“Actually,” Adam began. “You’d need _stain_ , not paint. And you’ll need to get some sandpaper and primer to take care of the existing paint on all the furniture anyway. Besides, a single coat of stain needs several hours to dry, maybe even overnight. And we’d need a few coats. But it’s no rush!” Adam finished urgently. Charles deflated.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize painting—or _staining_ —furniture took quite so long. I was hoping you guys would have the attic to yourselves for tonight.”

“It’s alright!” Adam assured. “Barbara and I really don’t mind the couch for another night or two until everything gets finished. That is, if a certain someone will let us stay on the couch.” Adam playfully nudged Lydia with his foot. She turned away from the corner, a stack of books in hand.

“We could do that stargazing thing you told me about tonight! I just found all the books, and it’s supposed to be a clear night. We could take my quilt outside and spread it on the grass so we have somewhere to sit. It’ll be perfect!”

“Lydia, we have to see.” Adam gently reminded her. “We still have a decent amount of work ahead of us, and we’re all still recovering from what happened, you especially.”

“Just tell me no, I can handle it.” Lydia spat, rolling her eyes.

“Lydia.” Charles chastised.

“ _What?_ ” Lydia snapped.

“Lydia.” Barbara interrupted, kneeling down to look the snarky teen in the eyes. “I understand you’re excited, but this is a big adjustment for all of us. We promise we’ll stargaze as soon as we can, hopefully within the next few days, if it’s alright with your father.”

Lydia shrunk, her breath quickening. Her she goes again, only thinking about herself. Her stupid, worthless self. She peered up at the woman, whose light blue eyes bore into her with a gentle firmness. The last time she didn’t listen to Barbara, she was almost exorcised. She pictured Barbara, hanging limply in the air, her screams throbbing in Lydia’s ears. Adam, bound and chained, watching silently with urgent eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. Whatever you want.”

The four adults looked at each other, unsettled. Adam knelt down and reached out to place a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, but she flinched. When did she back herself into the corner?

“Hey,” Adam began in a hush. “Whatever you want. We’re here for you. Once Barbara and I are settled up here for a night, we can talk about stargazing. I love the idea of bringing your quilt outside, and maybe we can get some snacks, too. Does that sound good?”

Lydia looked into his eyes, hazel and warm. Despite herself, she smiled weakly. She nodded. Barbara extended a hand, and Lydia took it, smiling. Once she was up, she dusted herself off as Charles put his hands on her shoulders.

“So, I say we put our heads together and make a list for the hardware store and the supermarket, and Delia and I will run out and be back by lunch. Sound good?”

After lists were compiled, Delia and Charles headed out, leaving Lydia and the Maitlands alone in the attic. As the couple whispered about furniture arrangements, Lydia shuffled over to a garbage bag in the corner.

“Adam? Barbara?” She called. They turned urgently. “What’s all this broken stuff? There’s this painting that looks like someone punched a hole through it, and a metal detector that looks like it was snapped in half.” A lopsided smirk appeared on her face. “I know you guys take insanely good care of your stuff, and you’re definitely not the violent type, so what gives?” Adam and Barbara shared uncomfortable looks.

“Oh, uh, we have no idea. They must’ve just broken down after being up here for so long.” Barbara answered, wringing her hands. Lydia nodded, trying her best to hide her smile at Barbara’s terrible cover up.

“You guys wanna smash all this pottery before my dad and Delia get home?” 

The Maitlands looked up from the floor and at each other. Maybe it was time to get a little bit reckless. They smiled.

“That’s what I thought. We’ve got a broom and garbage bags up here, and I’ll go get my baseball bat from my closet.”

“You used to play baseball? That’s awesome!” Adam remarked.

“What? No. I’m just a firm believer in always having a baseball bat handy.”

Adam and Barbara gave each other confused looks. However, once Lydia returned to the attic, bat in hand, they would come to share her sentiment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been absent lately. I've been very busy with my master's classes and being a teacher in this hellscape and I've had some pretty bad writer's block, which isn't getting much better. But I really wanted to post something so here it is!
> 
> Also, how about those demos, right?! I can't stop listening to We Mixed It Up Together.

Over the next two days, everyone worked tirelessly to revamp the furniture. Barbara and Adam had chosen a creamy off-white, based on Delia’s suggestion. Delia and Charles, on the other hand, had chosen a stormy gray, still fitting in with their “modern aesthetic,” but not as bold and jarring as all of the dark, glossy black. Lydia, on the other, other hand, didn’t care. She found the stain impossible to work with, leaving the back of one of the Maitland’s nightstands with uneven, gloppy brush strokes before she asked Adam to take over, despite his encouraging words. Even as an assistant, two’s a crowd, apparently; Lydia lost count of all the times she and Barbara bumped elbows while working on the coffee table, eliciting a patient, kind smile from the ghost each and every time. And like hell if she’d torture herself by working on furniture with Delia and her dad. So, when Adam and Barbara asked if she wanted to help paint their bedframe, she said thanks but no thanks, and sought to quiet her mind away from the stain fumes.

In her room, she flopped onto her bed, staring motionless at the ceiling. From above, she could hear the soft murmurs of the Maitlands chattering away as they worked. Despite her shitty, furniture makeover-induced mood, she smiled. When she and Dead Mom created their summer haunted houses, Lydia never thought a haunted house could ever consist of two gentle, quiet ghosts who know too much about crafting and wood staining. And yet, somehow, it was perfect. They were perfect.

She thought back to their first meeting. Their attempts to haunt and scare were laughable at best, but that’s only because, as Lydia would quickly learn, the Maitlands didn’t have a single bad bone in their bodies. If they had bones. Or bodies. What they did have, though, were kind smiles, warm eyes, and gentle, reassuring touches. All of that, just for Lydia. But why? Why did they choose to put so much of their effort and time and energy into her? This couple, with their own lives and their own problems, so ready to cast that all aside and help her, a girl with so much emotional baggage that she could be an airport, at the drop of a hat? And how did she repay them? With an exorcism? And yet, here they were, at her side when she can’t sleep, making sure she eats three square meals a day, making her smile and giggle at every turn because they’re just so goddamn nice and goofy and they’re condemned to be trapped here with her and—

A creak from her door bolted her upright and out of her thoughts.

Barbara.

“Sorry, hun. I wanted to see if you were awake, I hope I didn’t…Lydia, why are you crying?”

Shit.

Before she could stop it, tiny, hiccupping sobs began to rise from her chest. Barbara frantically shut the door and came rushing to her side as the cries threatened to crescendo. Images flashed before Lydia’s eyes:

Barbara floating ominously, motionless, in the air.

Barbara, her eyes once warm and lively, now blank and uninhabited.

Barbara, her body wilted, tensing only to release a truly bloodcurdling scream that even Lydia’s extensive repertoire of horror movies couldn’t come close to matching.

A protective arm wrapped around Lydia’s body, a hand planting itself firmly in the middle of her back, moving in panicked circles. Lydia wanted to push herself away, but she couldn’t find the willpower to do so. For the past few months, all Lydia got was the firm sensation of her father’s hands on her shoulders, his stiff, kind-of-too-tight-but-in-a-loving-dad-way hugs, his heavy fingers brushing her hair out of her eyes. And while that’s all nice and good and full of love, it’s nothing like _this._ Touches that are smooth, and tender, and gentle. A body that’s soft and smells like lavender. Long hair that tickles her cheek as it brushes up against her. So indulgently, and guiltily, she remained where she was.

“Do you want me to go get your dad?” Barbara asked timidly.

“ _No!_ ” Lydia nearly shrieked. “No, no. Please don’t.” She finished, quieting herself.

Barbara opened her mouth, about to ask if Lydia wanted some space, but couldn’t dare to leave the girl alone. She doesn’t need alone time. She needs _someone_. _Not a house, but a home_. She recalled her own words. Barbara took a deep breath.

“Do you want to talk?”

Lydia nearly choked out a laugh. If this was her father, he would’ve told her to cheer up and move on, or, now that they agreed on more open and vulnerable lines of communication, he would’ve gently demanded an explanation. But not Barbara. Here she was, crying nearly to the point of inducing vomiting, and Barbara made talking about her random burst of self-hate and despair optional. Lydia sighed between sobs. _Communication._

“I’m sorry.” She gulped.

“Lydia, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay to be upset with everything you’ve—”

“No! Not that. Just…”

Barbara remained silent, focused intently on the girl. Damn, she was good.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. With the Handbook. And me.”

Oh. _Oh._ Oh _no._

“Lydia, you listen to me. None of that was your fault. Don’t you dare think that for even a second. You were manipulated and taken advantage of and put in an impossible situation.”

“But I should’ve listened to you! I should’ve kept the book closed like you said but instead I threw a tantrum and called you guys pussies for staying in the attic. And then I found someone else to open the book for me. It’s all my fault!”

“Lydia, sweetie, no.” Barbara began, tucking a piece of hair behind Lydia’s ear. “With everything that happened with your mom, I’m sure you were feeling so lost. And hopeless. And you thought you could get your mom back. So of course you got mad when I got in the way of that. And then Bee—he—lied straight to your face and made a promise to you that he never intended to keep for his own selfish gains. So, if anything, it’s him you should be mad at, not yourself.”

Lydia straightened, thinking hard about Barbara’s words. She should be mad at…Beetlejuice. She felt guilty even thinking his name. The five of them had pretty much telepathically agreed to never even go as far whispering his name ever again. She should be mad at him, but she wasn’t. Aside from the Maitlands, he was the first person to make her happy again since her mom died. She had fun and caused chaos and was her strange and unusual self without any care or judgement. All stuff she did with her mom, she was able to do with Beetlejuice. Besides, she had a mental breakdown after being alone in her room for five minutes. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be alone for an eternity.

“Lydia?”

Lydia’s eyes darted up. Barbara smiled, once again tucking away the piece of hair that had fallen from behind Lydia’s ear.

“I know it might be hard to process right now, but I hope one day that you’ll agree with me.”

Shit. What did Barbara say again? That she was desperate to get her mom back. But who wouldn’t be? If her dad thought he had the power to bring her back, he would’ve. And if Adam and Barbara had the power to go back to being alive, they would do it. And whatever Delia said about her husband buying a boat and sailing to Rome, she would probably try to change that too. But instead, they’re all stuck here together, and there’s nothing they can do about that.

So, maybe she was desperate. And maybe he manipulated her. So maybe nothing was really her fault. And maybe it wasn’t his, either.

“Are my dad and Delia downstairs?”

“Yes, do you want me to get them?’

Lydia shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her balled-up fist.

“I wanna go apologize to Adam.”

“Oh, honey. He’s not mad at you. Neither of us ever are. I’m so sorry if we ever did anything to make you think that.”

“No, no.” Lydia replied. God, she was so fucking nice it was nauseating. “It would just make me feel better.”

Barbara nodded eagerly. “Okay, yeah. Do you want to go right now?”

Lydia nodded in reply, standing and making her way to her door. Barbara rose and followed before Lydia turned and enveloped her in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Barbara.”

Barbara stood with open arms, shocked. She looked down at the girl, who was still shaking from impending tears, her eyes screwed shut as her head rested on Barbara’s shoulder. Barbara returned the embrace before tilting her head so she was cheek-to-cheek with Lydia. Lydia pulled back and smiled, her gaze shifting down to the floor as she bounced on her toes. Once more she looked up at Barbara, giving another sweet, small smile through her tears, then turning away towards her door. Barbara followed.

Up in the attic, Adam knelt, whistling as he guided the brush back and forth in long, broad strokes across the edge of the bedframe. At the sound of the door opening, he turned with a smile, only for it to fall, along with the paintbrush in his hand, when he saw Lydia’s tear-stained face.

“Lydia, are you alright?” He asked as he rose and strode over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh—” Her voice caught. She sniffled as tears, hot and salty, began cascading down her cheeks once more. “I’m sorry. For everything. For yelling at you guys in the attic after you opened the Handbook and almost went into the Netherworld, and for almost exorcising Barbara, and getting you chained up by, by him, and, and—I’m just sorry.”

“Oh, Lydia.” Adam whispered. “You don’t have to be sorry. None of that was ever your fault.” His grip on Lydia’s shoulder grew tighter, his jaw tensed. “That—that demon—he—”

“I know.” Lydia interrupted. “I know. Barbara already gave me the rundown. I just wanted to apologize. It made me feel better.”

Adam nodded, relaxing his grip on Lydia’s shoulder. After a few seconds, his gaze shot back up to Lydia, and he smiled, holding out his arms. “Come here you troublemaker.”

Lydia stepped forward into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, surprisingly strong. After a second, he pulled away, holding Lydia at arm’s length.

“So, the reason Barbara came downstairs to check on you was to see if you wanted to play a board game while we waited for this coat of stain to dry. We found all these board games from when we were in our tabletop gaming phase. I only have one more section to finish, and then you can pick a game for us to play if that sounds good to you.”

Lydia smiled.

“Sounds great.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mention/description of a panic attack. Nothing too intense, but just an FYI.

After three days, the makeover of the brand new Maitland-Deetz house, as Lydia had called it, was complete. The toned down furniture of the main floor was a welcome blend of all the walks of life and afterlife that inhabited the house. The attic, however, was a vanilla paradise that consisted of warm neutrals, quilted couch pillows and bedspreads, and constant sunlight flooding in from open windows. Once everyone had spent the first night in their respective spaces, a night of stargazing was promised and planned. And while Lydia tried to remain nonchalant, she was secretly counting down the seconds until the sky became blanketed in darkness.

Restless, Lydia trotted into the kitchen, expecting to see the Maitlands flourishing about. They had decided to take over a portion of mealtime preparations as a way to contribute to the household, given that they couldn’t work or earn any income. And while Charles and Delia insisted that it wasn’t necessary, the couple assured them that they enjoy cooking, and that it wouldn’t be any trouble at all.

Grabbing the doorframe and swinging her body into the kitchen, Lydia stumbled, being greeted by Delia instead of the Maitlands.

“Hi, Lydia! Excited for tonight? I’m making some soup so that you guys can heat up leftovers later if you’re hungry. It’s supposed to be a chilly night.”

“Where’s Adam and Barbara?” 

“Oh, they’re in the attic. I told them not to worry about dinner since they’d be outside with you for most of the night. Plus, I found this recipe I really wanted to try. Do you want to help?”

Lydia froze, her back already turned, preparing to make her way out of the doorway and up to the attic. She glanced up the stairs.

“I’d really appreciate it.”

Lydia sighed. She’s been bothering the Maitlands enough, so they deserve a break from her before tonight, anyway. Lydia turned, trying her best to fake a kind, but not-too-excited smile.

“Sure.”

Delia’s face lit up. “Great! Come wash your hands. You can help me with the dumplings.”

“Dumplings?” Lydia asked, cocking her head as she made her way to the sink.

“Yup! Vegetable soup with dumplings. Exactly the kind of hearty meal you need in the middle of…June.”

Drying her hands, Lydia peered into the pot bubbling on the stove, the scent of warm dill wafting towards her.

“The dumpling mixture is in here.” Delia said, bringing a bowl over to where Lydia was standing. “All we have to do is grab little pinches of the dough and plop them in to boil for a few minutes. It’s kinda sticky though, so they won’t be in perfect balls, but they’ll be all sorts of different little shapes. Doesn’t it sound fun?”

Lydia arched her eyebrows, her fake smile growing tense. She didn’t like the idea of other people’s hands being all over her food, or her hands all over other people’s food.

“Super fun.” She replied, but not without some edge.

“Great!” Delia exclaimed, aloof. “Let’s get started!”

With that, Delia’s hand plunged into the bowl, withdrawing a small glob of tacky dough. Moving her fingers in every direction over the pot, the dough slopped off, dropping into the boiling broth below.

“See! Just like that. C’mon!” Delia chirped as she waved for Lydia to join her, a small piece of dough unknowingly flying off her finger. Lydia deflated, trudging over towards the stove and wishing she was on her way up to the attic. She grabbed a small lump, squirming at the gluey sensation of the dough clinging to her fingers. After what felt like five minutes of finger gymnastics, the newly formed dumpling flung itself into the pot, towards a searing, boiling death. Lydia found herself feeling jealous of the little ball of dough.

“Perfect! Keep going!” Delia encouraged as she retrieved her own dollop from the bowl. Lydia stretched her fingers, cringing at the feeling of drying, cakey dough gripping her fingers. She sighed, knowing that the only way out of this was to empty the bowl of dumpling dough. Begrudgingly, she reached her fingers back into the bowl.

As they worked side by side, Lydia cautiously peered over at the life coach. Her hoop earrings swung as she worked, her red hair, in its famous topknot, gleamed under the kitchen lights. Two crystals, pink and red, hung around her neck, stopping just above her cleavage.

“They’re rose quartz and ruby. Ruby helps open the Heart and Root chakras to make way for commitment and healing of past issues, while Rose Quartz is all about empowerment and emotional vulnerability and openness. Both are very helpful for families.”

 _Family._ That’s the first time anyone in the house has used that word since they had moved in. The five individuals were always a “household,” or a “group,” or even a “unit.” But never a _family._ Obviously, she and her dad were family, and under legal definition, Delia was about to become part of that, Lydia supposed. But the Maitlands…she really liked them. Maybe even loved them? She didn’t know. All she knew was that they were nice, and sweet, and warm and gentle and they perpetually smelled like lavender. Did they love her back? Would they even want to consider themselves family, or would they not want to be responsible for Lydia? She is pretty high maintenance.

“So how did those pictures come out from the other night? The ones you took of the sky?”

Shit. How long was she not talking, staring into space while she manhandled a pasty, raw dumpling? She let it fall into the pot.

“I only took one. But it looks cool.”

“Your dad told me you like to keep your pictures in boxes. Do you need any more? I have a few small ones left over from when we moved that the Maitlands didn’t need. Your dad said that we should get you some albums, but I told him that the boxes are easier. They hold more.”

Lydia contemplated for a moment, working another dumpling between her fingers. For once, Delia finally got it. Plus, some extra boxes would be nice motivation for her to start photographing again. She smiled.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Delia smiled tenderly, giving Lydia a small hip bump.

“No problem.”

Lydia took a deep breath.

“Do you want to see it? The picture I took the other night, I mean.”

“Absolutely! I can handle the rest of the dumplings from here. Go wash your hands and bring it down for me.”

After scrubbing the dumpling residue from her hands, Lydia nearly flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She strode towards her desk, grabbing the picture from the top of the clutter. As she turned away, she did a double take, another picture catching her eye. This picture contained two figures, clad in milky white sheets. However, the figures looked suspended, with no feet rooting them to the floor. She definitely remembered Adam and Barbara’s feet sticking out from the bottom of the sheets. Lydia frowned, realizing she would never be able to take any pictures of the Maitlands. Still gazing intently at the picture, she yanked open her desk drawer, her left hand fumbling around inside of it. A sharp pain shot through her hand as she pulled back and exclaimed, dropping the pictures to the floor. A shiny, silver thumb tack had made its way into the pad of her middle finger. At least she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out as bright red blood bubbled out from underneath it. Suckling on her finger, she retrieved the picture of the Maitlands from the floor and sauntered over to her bed, climbing on top of it and tacking the picture to the wall above her headboard. A picture of real-life ghosts hanging above her head as she slept every night. Couldn’t get any more goth than that. Plus, if this was the only picture of the Maitlands she could take, she wanted it to be somewhere important for all to see. She gazed at the picture once more, able to sense their panicked frenzy as the flash went off. The first moment they ever met. She would treasure that picture forever.

As she left her room and approached the stairs, she paused, gazing up at the attic door. She just had the show the Maitlands her picture of the sky. Again taking the stairs two at a time, she waltzed up to the attic door, knocking three times.

“Adam? Barbara?”

“Just a second, Lydia!” Adam called. After a moment, the attic door swung open. In the doorway stood Adam, and just over his shoulder, Lydia could see Barbara making the bed.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Adam’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. Barbara finished smoothing out the quilt and straightened, greeting Lydia with a warm smile.

“Are you alright?” Barbara questioned.

“Just thought I’d show you guys the picture I took the other night.”

She held it out, and Adam took it carefully as Barbara came from behind, resting her head gently on her husband’s shoulder.

“Oh Lydia,” Barbara gasped. “It’s beautiful. No wonder you ran out to get a picture.”

“I’ll say!” Adam remarked, handing her the picture.

Lydia took it, meeting their gazes. She smiled as she looked to the floor, suddenly flustered as the couple beamed at her. She needed to break the silence.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Just so you guys know.”

“Sure thing, Lydia.” Adam replied warmly. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

With that, Lydia turned and made her way back to the kitchen.

Stomping through the doorway, she proudly held out the Polaroid as Delia ladled soup into five bowls.

“Wow!” She exclaimed. “I saw you take the picture. You barely lined it up and it’s perfectly centered. You have such a talent!”

Lydia flushed. “Thanks.” She replied, digging the toe of her boot into the ground.

“What’s this I hear about talent?” Charles boomed as he walked into the kitchen.

“Your daughter! Look at the picture she took from the other night.”

Charles titled his head in interest. She held out the picture.

“Beautiful.” Charles remarked after a thoughtful moment. “Would you mind if I kept it on my desk?”

Lydia gently took it back.

“Actually, uh, I was planning on keeping it. But I’ll try to take some another night for you.”

Charles smiled, stepping towards his daughter and wrapping her in his embrace.

“Whatever you want, Lydia.”

Once the Maitlands joined the rest of the house on the main floor, everyone took their spot at the table. Lydia ate rapidly, secretly hoping that the faster she ate, the faster nighttime would come. It was not much of a surprise, however, when the sun still hung low in the horizon. Lydia ushered herself into the shower and dressed to prepare for a night outdoors. She smiled as she pulled the worn Lake George sweatshirt over her head, running her fingers through her damp hair. Once again she rushed to a window, and once again she was disappointed when she saw a purple sky without a star in sight. Restless, her eyes darted around the room, desperately looking for a way to occupy her time. All of a sudden, her heart began to pound as she gasped for breath. Tears poured down her cheeks as an unfound sense of panic swelled from her chest. As her legs began to shake, she found her way to the floor, hugging her knees to her body.

Downstairs, Adam hummed quietly as he stood over the sink, diligently washing the dishes. Barbara and Delia stood hip-to-hip as they dumped the remaining soup into containers, ushering the leftovers into the fridge. Charles leaned in the doorway, surveying the scene.

“So,” he called, startling Adam as he dried his hands. “Stargazing. What are you guys looking for tonight, exactly?”

“Well, you can look for all sorts of stuff!” Adam replied eagerly. “Constellations, planets, star clusters, satellites, you’ll be amazed at what you can see once you’re armed with the proper literature and sky charts!”

“How did you two get into stargazing?” Delia asked as she turned away from the refrigerator with a smile.

“It’s was all Barbara’s idea. Tell ‘em, honey.”

Barbara smiled bashfully, looking down at the counter as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“We had just gotten married and I wanted something romantic to do together. One day the idea just popped into my head, so I went ahead and ordered the books and charts and the rest is history, I guess.” Barbara recalled the many nights they had spent in the backyard, snuggled up under the stars. As the temperature dropped lower and lower throughout the night, the couple cuddled closer and closer underneath their blankets until… the inevitable happened. The ground was firm and uncomfortable, she remembered, but none of it mattered as long as she was wrapped in Adam’s embrace, their hot, foggy breath dissipating into the night. She chuckled silently to herself, figuring that that was probably the reason why Adam continuously requested they stargaze night after night.

“That’s really sweet.” Delia gushed, shaking Barbara from her thoughts. “Would anyone like some tea? I’m making some for myself. Lavender lemon. Really helps me wind down at the end of the day.”

“No thanks.” Adam replied, walking towards his wife and wrapping his arm around her midsection. “Barbara and I don’t need any help ‘winding down’ with the night we have planned!”

“Would you guys like coffee instead?”

Barbara and Adam turned to each other with puzzled looks. Adam turned back towards Delia.

“Honestly, we’re not sure if caffeine—or any other chemical compound, really—would have much of an effect on us anymore.”

“That’s a shame.” Charles interjected. “I guess we can’t have any of the wine nights I was planning.”

Barbara chuckled, releasing herself from her husband’s embrace and strolling over towards Charles, placing her hands on her hips and looking up at him slyly.

“We can _absolutely_ have wine nights.”

Charles released a thunderclap of laughter, reaching an arm around Barbara and gently clapping his hand onto her shoulder.

“I like your attitude, Barbara. What would you guys like?”

“Well, we’re a little on the dry white side, but we’re up for trying anything!” Adam chuckled. Smiling, Charles pointed at the male ghost, striding over to the wine rack in the corner of the room.

“We’re more red drinkers ourselves, but I think I have just the thing.”

After Charles popped open a bottle of Chardonnay, everyone sat around the table, wine glasses in hand. As Delia, who had readily abandoned the prospect of tea, lowered herself in the chair next to Barbara, she clinked their glasses, smiling at the female ghost, who returned the favor with a warm smile of her own. Adam reached behind his wife and offered his glass out to Delia, not about to be left out of a good glass clinking. As everyone sipped on their wine, Charles surveyed the couple before him. Barbara leaned into her husband, her slender fingers wrapped elegantly around the wine glass. Adam, holding tightly onto the stem of his glass, laid his arm around Barbara’s shoulders, absentmindedly playing with her shirt sleeve. Charles let out a sigh and cleared his throat, which caught the couple’s attention.

“I just want to say thank you for taking care of Lydia. She’s been doing a lot better recently and I appreciate it.”

Adam and Barbara swallowed their sips of wine, looking toward each other with smiles as Adam gave Barbara a light squeeze.

“Of course.” Barbara assured. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“And a bit feisty once you get to know her.” Adam added with a smile. Charles laughed.

“I’d say it’s the other way around; she’s feisty, and a bit of a sweetheart once you get to know her.”

“I’ll say.” Delia chuckled.

Everyone laughed. As Adam took a final swig from his glass, he glanced out of the window.

“Speaking of, we should probably go get the kiddo. I think it’s finally dark enough to head out.”

As if on cue, Lydia came stomping down the stairs and through the kitchen doorway, with her camera hanging around her neck and bundles of blankets and pillows spilling out of her arms, along with the stargazing books from the attic. She cocked her head at the sight before her.

“Are you guys having a book club meeting or something?” she asked with a smirk.

“Lydia, honey, please don’t give Adam any ideas.” Barbara pleaded sarcastically. Adam retorted with a playful shove as he rose and strode over to Lydia, taking the blankets and pillows from her arms.

“You ready to go, sweetheart?”

Lydia nodded her head eagerly, beaming up at Adam. As Charles finished his wine, he rose, followed by Delia, who collected the wine glasses and deposited them into the sink.

“You guys have fun.” Charles said, giving Lydia a goodnight kiss on the head.

“We’ll leave you to it.” Delia added, reaching an arm around Lydia and giving her a squeeze. “And don’t worry about the wine glasses, I’ll get them in the morning.”

Charles and Delia bid the rest of the household goodnight, trudging up the stairs. Adam dropped the blankets and pillows onto the table, walking over to the sink.

“I _will_ worry about the wine glasses.” Adam remarked with a wink towards Lydia as he turned on the faucet. Lydia and Barbara glanced at each other, rolling their eyes with matching smiles.

“Do you want me to heat you up some soup to bring outside?” Barbara asked. Lydia smiled, striding towards the cupboard.

“Actually,” she began, rummaging around. “I was thinking more along the lines of barbeque potato chips and Milk Duds.” She withdrew each snack, holding them out and giving them a little shake, hoping to entice the Maitlands. Adam dried his hands and smiled, scrunching his nose playfully at Lydia.

“Sounds good to me!” Adam joined Lydia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Barbara joined them, also wrapping an arm around Lydia.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know I mentioned June and everyone in the fandom thinks that the musical takes place in the fall/winter but with what everyone’s wearing I think it’s more springtime when the Maitlands die. Plus even though Skye says it’s cold, you can still have cold days in Connecticut during the spring. I live in northern NJ so it’s close enough. And I know literally no one cares but unless someone can provide me with solid, canonical evidence of the time of year this is a hill I will DIE on.


	6. Chapter 6

Adam scooped up the blankets and pillows excitedly, making a beeline for the back door.

“So I think we’ll show you some beginner constellations to start off. We might even be lucky enough to see some planets too! I think Mercury and Venus are visible this time of year and—”

As Adam swung the door open and stepped out, Lydia’s heart sank.

“ _Adam, no, wait!_ ” She shrieked. He froze as he stumbled onto the grass, looking back at Lydia with wide eyes. Barbara, frightened by Lydia’s sudden outburst, had taken a step back. As Adam stared up at her, Lydia began to stutter, blinking back tears.

“I—I’m sorry. It’s—it’s just that when I was with…BJ…he told me that ghosts can’t leave the house or they’ll get eaten by a sandworm. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry!”

As Barbara rushed to reassure the girl, Adam took a few extra steps, looking around.

“Well I guess the backyard still counts as part of the house!” he called in an attempt to cheer Lydia up. He looked over at her, and seeing that it didn’t work, strode back into the house.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, laying a gentle hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Remember when we were up on the roof with you? That was still outside of the house, and we were fine. So no wonder it slipped your mind.”

Lydia swallowed, nodding with realization. Barbara, unnecessarily, breathed a sigh of relief.

“So!” Adam exclaimed, stepping aside and brandishing his arm. “After you, madam.”

Lydia looked up and smiled wearily before stepping out. The smell of a distant campfire filled her chest, her breath disappearing in light wisps into the nighttime air. Barbara and Adam joined her, listening to the distant calls of crickets. Once the group was seated and settled, Barbara draped a blanket over Lydia’s shoulders as Adam reached into his pocket for his glasses, peeling open the first book. Lydia pointed up at the sky.

“I see the Big Dipper! And there’s the Little Dipper right next to it.” Adam peered at her over the rim of his glasses.

“Look at you, you little expert. But did you know that the Dippers are actually small parts of bigger constellations?”

Lydia shook her head. Adam continued, thrusting the book into Lydia’s lap and pointing at the pages.

“So the Little Dipper is Ursa Minor, and the Big Dipper is part of Ursa Major, which are both bears.”

“And,” Barbara added. “When there’s a constellation inside of another, larger constellation, it’s called an asterism.”

“And the star at the end of the Little Dipper, that’s Polaris, right?” Lydia questioned.

“You bet!” Adam answered. “And the star at the end of the Big Dipper is called Benetnasch, which is a very silly name.”

Lydia flipped through the pages and scanned the sky.

“What about Orion’s Belt? I remember learning about it.”

“We won’t see that until wintertime.” Barbara replied. “But it’s very easy to spot.”

Curious, Lydia read the page on Orion aloud.

“‘Orion’s Belt is also called the Three Kings or the Three Sisters. From left to right are stars Alnitak, Alnilam, which means ‘string of pearls’ in Arabic, and Mintaka. The Flame Nebula and Horsehead Nebula also flank the belt. Other notable stars in the constellation are Rigel, Bellatrix, and—’”

At Lydia’s abrupt pause, Adam cocked his head. Fiddling with his glasses, he reached for the book. “Do you need help? Star names can be pretty tricky. Let’s see…‘Other notable stars in the constellation are Rigel, Bellatrix, and—’”

Barbara and Lydia gathered around Adam as he held the book open, much like they did when Adam was reading aloud from the Handbook, which now felt like a distant memory, even though it was only a few days ago. Cautiously, they all peered at the one word they dare not to utter.

_Betelgeuse._

The three gulped collectively. Lydia shook her head.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up. I had no idea. I didn’t know.”

Barbara took the book from her husband, flipping the pages then returning her gaze to the sky. Gingerly, she scooted over and reached an arm around Lydia, pulling her close and pointing up at the sky with her free hand. She leaned into Lydia, whispering.

“Do you see that star?” she asked delicately. Lydia nodded, indulgently taking in the scent of lavender that always seemed to hang around Barbara. She leaned in, too, letting Barbara’s hair brush against her cheek.

“That’s actually Venus. Isn’t that cool?” Barbara turned, locking eyes with the girl. Lydia, captivated by Barbara’s gaze, answered back.

“Really cool.”

As the night went on, the trio began to slump further and further down into the blankets that surrounded them. At some point, Lydia broke her trance of looking at the sky to glance to each of her sides. Adam and Barbara lay calmly, their eyes shut. Lydia blew a chuckle out of her nose and laid back, pulling the biggest blanket she could find over the three of them, following the ghosts into the warmth of slumber.

Hours later Lydia awoke, surrounded by morning dew. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, taking in the hazy orange of an impending sunrise. Remembering that she promised her dad a picture, she grabbed her camera, the _click_ startling her. She looked down, smiling as she saw Adam and Barbara, who remained undisturbed. A few minutes later, another _click_ rang out as Lydia captured the brightening of the orange sky as the sun peeked out from the horizon. She lowered her camera and laid back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She looked to each side. Nestled in between the two ghosts, Lydia once more drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The remainder of summer passed too quickly in a haze filled with many wine nights, many more nights of falling asleep under the stars, a small courthouse wedding, and the resulting at-home, surprise reception planned by two ghosts and a spunky teenage girl. Warm, welcoming nights were replaced with cooler temperatures as the calendar turned to September. And that calendar, which was color-coded by Adam, held an important event that sent all members of the household into a frenzy: Lydia’s first day of school.

As Dead Mom’s illness started to become more grave, Lydia was withdrawn from her previous school. And her new school, understanding the circumstances, decided to allow her to continue onto her sophomore year as planned, despite missing multiple months of her freshman year and having a distressingly low GPA.

So here she was, ruminating over her outfit for the next day, not because she cared, but because it would save her time and allow her a few more minutes of sleep, per Barbara’s suggestion. As she contemplated between two black dresses, a knock startled her out of her thoughts.

“Come in.” she muttered.

Her door creaked loudly, revealing her father.

“I have to see if Adam has any WD-40 to fix these hinges.”

“I like it. Doors have to creak in a haunted house. And because our house is haunted by ghosts who flip through Pottery Barn magazines in their spare time, you gotta let me have this.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he stared at the Polaroid tacked on the wall above Lydia’s bed.

“Fine. But if one of those ghosts starts wielding a can of WD-40, I’m not sure I can stop him.”

“It’s ok, I’ve already told him to back off.” Lydia remarked with a smile as she slung a dress over her desk chair.

“All ready for tomorrow?”

Lydia shrugged. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”

“Nervous?”

“No.” Lydia scoffed. “I’m just not exactly jumping for joy at the thought of having to spend eight hours with hundreds of other people who are trying to become Instagram models or Soundcloud rappers.”

“Well,” Charles huffed, pretending like he understood what any of that meant, “Maybe you’ll find some more like-minded individuals now that we’re away from the hustle and bustle of New York.”

Lydia shrugged again. “Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m just planning to keep my head down and receive my legally required, state-sanctioned education.”

“At least you have your photography class to look forward to.”

Because Lydia gave zero fucks when asked to pick her classes over the summer, Charles had decided to enroll her in a photography elective, along with a study hall, as to not overload her.

“Is that what you’re wearing? That black dress?” Charles asked after Lydia hadn’t responded, pointing to her desk chair.

“Yeah.” Lydia challenged, quirking an eyebrow.

“I saw something the other day when I was out that I thought would be nice to wear on your first day.” Charles replied calmly, revealing a small box he had been holding behind his back. Lydia took it, cocking her head. Inside the box was a pair of black tights, adorned with an intricate lace design. She smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” Charles replied, reaching an arm around his daughter and giving her a squeeze. “Now get some sleep. You have quite a day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Goodnights were exchanged, and once Lydia was comfortably cocooned in bed, Charles flicked off the light and closed the door behind him, ensuring to go extra slow as to prolong the creak that Lydia so fondly adored. And although her feelings about school didn’t change, she at least had some cool tights to look forward to.

The next morning was filled with a whirlwind of activity that centered around Lydia. Delia made breakfast, Barbara packed her lunch, and Adam hugged her extra tight as he held back tears. A short ride in her father’s sleek, black car led her right up to the front door of a looming, brick building.

“Hey. Don’t have too much fun today, okay?” Charles quipped with a smile.

“I don’t know Dad, I can’t make any promises.”

Charles reached over and gave her a hug, which she returned, nuzzling her face into his broad shoulder before she let go. She opened the door and trudged up the stairs before a call from her father made her turn around.

“I love you, Lydia!”

She smiled. “I love you too, Dad!” Charles returned her smile, and Lydia thought she caught him wiping his eye as he drove off. Lovey-dovey stuff like that would embarrass most teenagers, but not Lydia. She learned the unfortunate lesson that, one day, the opportunities to tell people you love them run out. And she wasn’t about to take any for granted. And by the looks of her peers filtering through the door, none of them seemed to care.

Lydia made a beeline for her first class. Last night, Adam made sure that Lydia had her classrooms memorized, with the help of his color-coded map. _Green for history, red for math, blue for English, purple for chemistry, orange for the cafeteria and gym, yellow for photography, pink for the girls’ bathrooms, and neon yellow for the nurse’s office, because neon yellow is a color for emergencies._ Lydia suppressed a giggle as she recalled Adam’s intricate explanation of the map. As the number of bodies in the hallway fizzled out, Lydia stepped through the doorway to her first class.

Pausing at the doorway, she surveyed her seating options. Fortunately, all the seats at the front of the classroom were taken. Electing to not fall into both the goth kid and new kid stereotypes of sitting in the back, she chose a seat in the middle row closest to the doorway. Some of the other students furrowed their brows at her entrance, turning towards their friends to whisper the question of “Who’s that?” as it was so easily-readable on their lips. Not that Lydia cared, anyway. She stared at the multitude of inspirational posters around the room, choosing not to waste her energy on psychoanalyzing every look, every whisper, every shrug. The bell rang and remaining students were ushered in as the teacher entered. As he stood in front of the class and gave his introduction, Lydia could hear a group of girls giggling and whispering. She rolled her eyes. Of course she would be stuck in a class with the teacher everyone thought was hot.

After his introduction came roll call, and her peers directed discrete shrugs at their friends as Lydia’s name was called. After a brief overview of the class, everyone was required to play an icebreaker game. This particular game consisted of a beach ball that students would toss around the room, and whoever caught it had to answer a question. Unsurprisingly, Lydia was the last one left. She caught the ball, tapping her finger on it lightly as she waited for her question.

“Lydia.” Her teacher triumphantly announced, pointing at her.

“Yup.”

“Favorite movie genre?”

She tried her best not to roll her eyes. “Horror. As though that’s a surprise to anyone.”

Her classmates laughed. Lydia jerked her head back, startled by all the positive attention directed at her by people her age. Despite herself, she smiled too, blowing a chuckle out of her nose.

The rest of the day consisted of the same monotonous routine: walk into class, sit, teacher introduction, roll call, overview of the year, and a cringe-worthy game. As she rounded the corner towards the cafeteria for study hall, she was stopped in her tracks by a young, blonde woman.

“Hi, Lydia?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, I’m Miss Lambert and I’m your guidance counselor. Your father called when you first moved into the district and explained your situation. I just wanted to introduce myself real quick. If you ever need anything, my office it right behind the front desk when you go into the guidance office. Sound good?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Lydia replied with a small smile, attempting to make her way past the woman.

“Are you finding everything okay? Would you like a map?” Miss Lambert asked, holding out a flimsy piece of stark white paper. Lydia inhaled deeply, trying to find the strength to continue this conversation.

“No, I’m okay. My, uh…” _My what? What do I call him?_ She thought. Miss Lambert cocked her head at Lydia’s abrupt pause, her brows furrowing with concern.

“Lydia, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. My, uh, my…dad…printed one out for me last night. Thanks.” She strode quickly, hurrying down the hallway. Once in study hall, she found a remote table, slamming herself down into the seat. If people looked her way, she didn’t care. She withdrew the map from her bag and unfolded it slowly, her fingers tracing Adam’s careful outlines. Adam. And Barbara. Two secrets she would have to keep. If she thought blending in at her old school was difficult, blending in would be even tougher now.

The remaining hours dragged on, but eventually, the final bell rang. Luckily, Lydia’s last class of the day was only a few short strides away from the front door. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she bolted out, scanning the pickup line for her father’s car. Spotting it, she trotted down the stairs. She swung his door open and climbed inside, greeting her dad with a reassuring smile.

“Well you’re not crying like you did on the first day of kindergarten. That’s a good sign. How was it?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, retaining her smile. “Good. Nothing exciting happened, so you don’t have to ask me any more questions.”

“Are your teachers nice? Did you talk to anyone?”

Lydia shot him a look, dropping her smile.

“What? They’re legitimate questions I have.”

“They seemed nice, and not really. It was mostly the teachers talking.” Lydia huffed.

Lydia was met with the same questions and more as soon as she waltzed into the doorway of her home. Everyone was happy with the outcome of her day, albeit Adam being a bit sad that there wasn’t any homework to help with yet. After dinner and a night of mind-rotting television with the rest of the household, Lydia retired to bed, already exhausted at the fact that she had to do this shit again tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

Days turned into weeks as leaves changed and fell to the ground, only to be satisfyingly crunched under Lydia’s boots as she walked into school. Lydia had been doing a decent job of remaining on top of her work, already earning good grades that the four adults of the household were pleased with. And while she didn’t really make any friends, her peers didn’t automatically turn their backs when teachers told them to make groups or partner up. Hell, some of them even asked her questions and made small talk. But other than that, Lydia worked alone. And she liked it that way. She liked to remain a mystery. A mystery that some wanted to unravel.

One October afternoon, Lydia sat alone at the round lunch table she called her own. She had luckily been put into one of the later, less populated lunch periods, so sitting alone was an attainable luxury. As she read the four handwritten notes that were so lovingly tucked into her lunchbox, a figure caught her attention. She looked up, locking eyes with a broad-shouldered boy who had seated himself at her table. She stashed away her notes, raising an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?”

The boy huffed out a chuckle, fiddling with the cuff on his varsity jacket.

“Lydia?”

Lydia took a swig out of her water bottle. “Yup.”

“You live in that house where that couple died, right?”

Lydia froze. Her mouth felt dry.

“Yeah.” She replied, turning towards him.

“Heard some weird shit was goin’ on in that house. Something about a girl scout getting scared shitless. I don’t think it was because of that couple, though”

Lydia shrugged, opting to rummage through her lunchbox, hoping her disinterest would be enough to make him leave.

“You always dress like that or did you decide to start celebrating Halloween early?”

“Every day’s Halloween in my world.” She replied, not removing her eyes from the interior of her lunchbox. _Not much of a lie_ , she thought.

“What do you do all day, just sit around summoning demons and talking to ghosts and shit?”

Lydia let out a laugh. “Pretty much.” _If only he knew._

The boy clenched his fists, then relaxed them, exhaling through his nose.

“It’s a shame about that couple, ya know?”

Lydia swallowed. “Yeah.”

“The guy had a stick up his ass. Called him ‘dude’ one time and he nearly lost his shit, bitchin’ at me about how it’s rude to talk to someone like that or some shit. What a fucking idiot. Speaking of asses though, his wife, man. Wow. The things I’d do to her.”

The next thing Lydia knew, the boy was on the floor, cupping his bleeding mouth as he spit out a tooth. She was standing, her chest heaving, her fist throbbing. Someone called out.

“Yo Anthony, she made you look like a fucking kindergartener, bro!”

What came next was a haze of adults ushering her from room to room, until her father came and took her home.

As Charles opened the door, Lydia pushed past him, stomping up the stairs and into her room. Charles looked towards the dining room table, where the remaining members of the household sat, concerned and upset.

“Well?” Barbara questioned.

“They suspended her for tomorrow. Her teachers will be notified and she’ll be required to do whatever work they email her, and she’s free to return on Monday. They figured that the other student instigated the fight, but they said they have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to physical violence.”

Adam shook his head, distraught. “I never thought I’d hear the words ‘physical violence’ when talking about Lydia.”

“Did she say why she did it?” Delia asked.

“No.” Charles replied. “She didn’t say anything. Not after it happened, not after I got there, not to the principal, or her guidance counselor, or on the way home. I have no idea.”

“There has to be a good reason. She wouldn’t do something like this out of the blue.” Barbara reasoned.

“I agree.” Charles sighed. “But violence is violence, and rules are rules. It wouldn’t change the suspension. I’ll try to talk to her before dinner.”

With that, Charles turned and embarked up the stairs, retiring to his bedroom and shutting the door.

Sometime later, Lydia lay on her bed, her legs numb from them hanging off the edge for so long. A knock came from the other side of the door. Silently, she rose, knowing that someone was going to come fetch her sooner or later.

The door creaked as she cracked it open. There stood her dad, alone in the hallway. 

“Look, Lydia, I’m not mad. No one’s mad. Can we talk about what happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Lydia replied, going to shut the door. Charles extended his arm, the heel of his hand stopping the door from closing.

“There is something to talk about. You punched a boy’s tooth out. I just want to know what happened.”

“Look, don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Lydia, I’m already worried about it. I need to hear it.”

“You don’t need to hear anything.” Lydia spat, raising her voice.

“Yes I do.” Charles replied, raising his voice right back. “Remember when we ran into Hell and we promised each other we’d talk more? What happened to that?”

Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes. She slammed the door. Charles walked to the other end of the hallway, slamming his door in response.

Downstairs, Adam, Barbara, and Delia sat in the living room, mouths agape at what they just overheard. Delia broke the silence.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t think us doing anything is going to help the situation.” Adam replied, his eyes trained on the stairs. Delia stood.

“I’m at least going to go talk to Charles.”

“I think we should go up to the attic.” Barbara suggested. “Just in case Lydia wants to find us, that’s the best place for us to be. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Barbara.” Delia sighed.

With that, the remaining three fled to their places, the usually bustling house now blanketed in a heavy silence.

Hours later, a knock came from Charles’ door. Gently, it opened. Charles and Delia, who had been sitting in silence, looked up. Lydia.

“Delia, is it okay if I talk to my dad for a minute?”

“Sure, sure whatever you need. Do you want me to get you anything, like some water or something?”

Lydia’s bloodshot eyes stayed focused on the floor. She shook her head.

Delia rose, giving one final look to Charles before shutting the door and retreating to the attic. The moment the door clicked into place, Lydia began to sob. In an instant, Charles rose and embraced her, holding her tight.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not! You’re right! We made a deal. No matter how much it hurts, we need to talk.”

Charles couldn’t argue with that. He guided her over to his bed, sitting her down on the edge before taking a seat next to her. He brushed the hair out of her face and smiled.

“We do need to talk. But you can take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

Lydia hiccupped a few more sobs before she swallowed, sniffling.

“So, that kid came and sat down at my table and started saying stupid shit like ‘You live in that house where the couple died,’ and ‘Do you always dress like that or did you decide to start celebrating Halloween early?’ I kept trying to brush him off, but he wouldn’t stop. Then—”

Lydia bit her lip as she looked up at the ceiling, her body shuddering with impending sobs. Charles rubbed her back, waiting for her to go on.

“Then he started talking about Adam and Barbara. He said Adam had a stick up his ass and called him an idiot. And then he started talking about Barbara, and he said something about the things he’d do to her. And that’s when I punched him.”

Charles’ breath caught as he, too, looked up at the ceiling. His blood began to boil. _That little fucking shit stain._

“Please don’t tell them. Don’t tell anyone. Not even Delia. Please. I don’t know what I’d do if they found out. How’d they feel. I mean, they—they died, and—”

Sobs escaped from Lydia’s body as she crumbled into Charles. After a moment, he spoke.

“Lydia. I want you to look at me and listen to me carefully.” Lydia peered up, looking a lot like she did on the first day of kindergarten, when she clung onto his leg, not wanting to let go. Charles continued.

“The next time he, or anyone, says anything about Adam and Barbara, I want you to punch another tooth out. Do you understand?”

A smile crept onto Lydia’s face as she laughed between sobs, nodding her head. Charles couldn’t change the Maitlands' fate, or the things that were said about them that had upset Lydia so much, but the one thing he could do was hold his little girl.


	9. Chapter 9

Lydia bounded down the stairs. It was Saturday evening. The fight and resulting suspension were far behind her, and the looming week ahead was not yet on the forefront. Usually, the five members of the house would settle down for a movie, or a game night (per Adam’s request), or a game night plus wine (per Delia’s request), or just for a simple night in, surrounded by each other as the outside sky darkened into the familiar and comforting blanket of night.

However, instead of being met with the bustle and commotion of a busy household, Lydia was met with silence. Just beyond the couch sat a wooden crib with a white rag draped over one of its sides. From the kitchen, Barbara entered with two terracotta jugs, placing them gingerly down onto the table. Adam followed soon after, carrying two plates adorned with sandwich fixings. The couple talked and smiled lovingly at each other as they moved about the home, the floorboards creaking below their feet.

The floorboards.

Lydia blinked hard, her heartbeat rising into her ears. The pair continued, so blissfully unaware of what was about to come, spending their last minutes rattling off a list of home repairs. Still, Lydia remained rooted in her spot, unmoving, observing. A deafening _crack_ rang through the living room, the Maitland’s faces frozen in terror, mouths agape with what would be their final breaths. A plume of dust rose into the air as Lydia heard the crunch of the couple’s bodies collide with the floor below.

Cautiously, Lydia tip-toed over to the gaping hole in the floor and peered into it. She saw Adam and Barbara, arms and legs unnaturally bent, bodies contorted in all sorts of angles, their blood slowly mixing and pooling on the ground around them. Stumbling to the floor, she reeled backwards, pausing only to retch on the ground next to her. Swallowing the acidity that settled at the back of her throat, her heart pounded, waiting for the beloved ghosts to resurface from the basement.

The front door swung open. Movers traipsed in, tossing the Maitland’s belongings haphazardly out of the house. Looking down, Lydia realized that the hole, along with Adam and Barbara’s bodies, had disappeared. Her head swirling, she turned as she heard the front door open again, this time revealing Charles and Delia, surveying the house and smiling to themselves in triumph. The world had trudged forward, and Adam and Barbara were nowhere in sight.

_Lydia?_

A voice yanked her body up. Her ears ringing, she frantically looked around as her vision swam in front of her, her dark bedroom materializing through her tears. She swallowed to keep the growing sensation of nausea at bay, wiping a cold sweat from her forehead.

The Maitlands. They were alive in front of her, seconds away from their untimely end. And she didn’t do anything to stop it. Did she want them dead? If they weren’t dead, they wouldn’t be here with her. Was she really that selfish?

_Am I a bad person?_

A long, miserable creak came from her bedroom door. She prayed to whatever godforsaken entity that would hear her that it was her dad. Hell, she’d even prefer Delia right now.

“Lydia, sweetie?”

“Are you alright?”

No such luck.

Begrudgingly, Lydia turned to face the couple. In her doorway stood Adam, dressed in black and white flannel pajama pants and a plain white shirt, hands nervously gripping his wife’s shoulders. Barbara, in a baby pink nightgown that hung just above her knees, clutched her hands in front of her chest, concern etched across her face. They both stood with eyebrows arched, heads cocked, lips parted slightly in anticipation at Lydia’s next move. So innocent. So kind. So… dead.

Lydia’s lip quivered. She bit down on it, hard, in order to try to stop the inevitable. Despite her best attempts, however, her body lurched as sobs bubbled from her chest, tears burning as they rolled down her face. The couple lunged forward, rushing to her aid. A shrill inhale brought blood into Lydia’s mouth. A delicate, cool hand met Lydia’s forehead.

“Lydia, are you sick? Do you feel okay?” Barbara asked gently. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched her face, hugging her knees to her chest and keeping her head down, wishing she could escape from the current hell she found herself in. Another hand, this time steady and tender, placed itself on her back, moving in reassuring circles.

“We could hear you from the attic.” Adam chimed in. “You sounded upset. Scared.”

Upset. Scared. That’s all Lydia’s been lately. Even after the brief triumph after the whole… _incident_ , the teen just couldn’t shake the looming feelings of unhappiness and uncertainty. Her father had made a valiant effort to open the lines of communication, and it was a promise he had been successful in keeping thus far. Whether it was sharing memories of Dead Mom or opening up about their feelings as they settled into their new, messy lives, it was all out and in the open, just as Lydia had craved for months. And yet, somehow, it still wasn’t enough to make her demons go away. Well, the figurative ones, anyway.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Barbara roused Lydia out of her thoughts. She stared at the woman, who was radiant in the darkness, her golden curls resting below her shoulders, her blue eyes filled with worry. Lydia must’ve stared for too long, because Barbara huffed, straightening with determination.

“Lydia.” The woman chastised. “I know you and your dad struck up a deal to communicate better. But that deal is a two way street. And with everyone living— _residing_ —in this house, it’s really a five way street.”

“That’s terrible infrastructure.” Adam commented. Lydia felt him shrink as Barbara shot him a glare even the teen could be frightened of. Despite herself, Lydia let out a small laugh, garnering a triumphant smile from Adam. “Atta girl.”

“The point being,” Barbara continued, exasperated. “If you want others to communicate better with _you_ , then you need to communicate better with _them_. The only way we can help you is if you let us. Although you’re a bit clammy, you don’t feel sick, so I’ll ask you again: Did you have a bad dream?”

Lydia returned her gaze to her bed in front of her, covers strewn this way and that from her unconscious struggle. Knowing that Barbara was right, and knowing even more that the ghost wouldn’t back down without a fight, Lydia relinquished a small nod. Barbara softened.

“Is it okay if we sit with you?”

Lydia wasn’t ready to pull them into the terrifying mess that was her subconscious, a burden that she thought they were free from until now. But she suddenly felt so small as she sat alone in her bed, surrounded by darkness, the silence of her anxiously awaited answer ringing in her ears. Her heart fluttered as more cries threatened to burst from her chest. She gave another small nod. Adam lowered himself next to Lydia and kicked his legs up onto the bed, making sure to keep his hand on Lydia’s back, secure and soothing. Barbara waved her hand, the door closing silently as she swung herself onto the bed and around to Lydia’s other side, resting an arm around her, fingers tracing the edge of Lydia’s shoulder.

“Now,” Adam began. “What’s got you so upset, hun?”

Before she could stop it, she began to choke out more sobs, her body lurching. The Maitlands, patient as always, sat and waited for her to speak, continuing with their soothing touches, sprinkled with calming shushes and hushed coos of “There, there,” and “You’re okay.” However, her lurching only intensified to a dangerous magnitude.

“Adam, Adam!”

“On it!”

Her garbage bin was flung in her lap as she heaved into it, the nausea and acidic taste in her mouth finally coming to a head. Adam’s hand slid up her back in order to take hold of her hair, and Barbara’s hands were now on both of Lydia’s shoulders, keeping her steady. As she finished bringing up the remains of that night’s dinner, she swallowed, taking hold of the tissue Adam already had ready for her. Wiping her mouth, she crumbled into Barbara’s awaiting embrace, sobbing. Adam willed away the mess and returned the trashcan to the floor, summoning a cup of water. Lydia took it, sputtering as it went down the wrong pipe.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. Take a breath, then take small sips.” Barbara whispered, clearing the hair away from Lydia’s face that had become plastered there from sweat, using her free hand to pull the girl in closer. After she heeded the ghost’s advice, Adam took the glass and placed it on her nightstand, pulling up the jumble of sheets and blankets around them.

“We can’t have you catching a chill now, can we?” he asked, leaning into the pair of ladies, resting a calm hand on Lydia’s arm. Barbara looked down at the girl who was clinging to her form, head resting on her shoulder.

“How about we ask you some yes or no questions, and you can just nod or shake your head? Does that sound good?”

Lydia nodded her head.

“She’s an expert at it already!” Adam proclaimed, a cheesy smile aimed at Lydia. She smiled weakly in return.

“Was the dream about…him?” Barbara asked. Lydia shook her head.

“Was it about your mom?” Adam inquired. Again, Lydia shook her head, blinking out tears that continued to come, despite being too tired to cry any longer.

“Your dad? Delia?” Barbara questioned. Lydia shook her head, shoulders beginning to shake as they ran out of options.

“Was it about you? Did you get hurt?” Adam asked. Lydia couldn’t even shake her head at this point, so she cried hot tears and breathed hot breath into Barbara’s shoulder, hoping they would figure it out themselves.

And figure it out they did.

In a simultaneous instant, the couple switched their gaze from the teen to each other, a palpable tension in the air. This time, Barbara was the one shaking her head, staring into her husband’s widened eyes. Neither were prepared to handle the psychological mess that this was about to become. If they thought a baby would be terrifying, they now learned the painful lesson that a teenager was much more horrifying. Barbara wanted to leap up and run to Charles or Delia, someone who was much more qualified to handle this. Lydia had seen more mental suffering at fifteen than most people saw in their lifetimes, and even the smallest mistake in their handling of the situation could spell catastrophe. Their attention returned to the girl, wilting under the pressure, curling into Barbara’s form like a baby bird that was booted from the nest too soon. She sounded like one, too.

“Us?” Barbara croaked. Lydia’s intensifying sobs gave them the answer they dreaded.

“Did we hurt you?” Adam asked sheepishly.

“ _You died!”_ Lydia choked.

“But we’re already—”

“You died, and I was there, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. You guys were walking around, being normal, and then you fell through the floor. Just like I knew you would. But I just stood there and waited for it to happen! It’s like—It’s like—I wanted—you—you to—”

“Die.” Barbara finished the girl’s sentence to stop her frantic hiccupping. It can’t be good for her vocal chords.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Lydia bawled. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Adam started. “We know you don’t _want_ us dead.”

“What if I do? We wouldn’t be here together if you weren’t.”

“You’re right.” Barbara acknowledged after a moment. “But if we didn’t die, you would’ve moved somewhere else. And your dad would’ve still proposed to Delia, and—”

“ _He_ wouldn’t have shown up and—”

“You and your dad would’ve never gone to the Netherworld and figured everything out.”

Silence. Lydia pondered the inevitable, shocking herself when her private thought came out in a light whisper.

“And I’d be dead.”

“ _What?”_ Both Maitlands spat with shock.

Lydia looked at her door, thinking about her father slumbering away at the other end of the hall. “And who knows if I would’ve even found my mom…and—and _dad_.”

“Lydia, honey, what do you mean you’d be dead?”

Barbara’s question hung in the air. Lydia’s gaze stayed fixed on the door. No more tears came.

“When I met Beej on the roof, I was up there to…to jump.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness.” Barbara whispered to herself. Lydia shook her head.

“Why did I even think of jumping? Dad would’ve been without his wife _and_ his daughter. Why can I only think about myself?”

“Hey.” Barbara protested. “You were thinking that life was unfair, and not worth living if your mom wasn’t there. You thought life fucked you over for no good reason, and that it would never get better.”

“Lydia,” Adam whispered, attempting to move past his wife’s use of the F-word, “Does anyone else know?”

More silence.

“No.”

“Have you thought about it since?”

Lydia shook her head.

“Please don’t tell my dad.”

Barbara looked to her husband urgently, who was meeting her with the same terrified expression. Barbara paused, weighing her options. _She needs people who won’t run away._

“Lydia, I don’t think this is a secret that should be kept from your dad. But,” Barbara began, holding up her hand as Lydia opened her mouth to protest. “I also understand and respect that you’re a smart, mature girl who is capable of making her own decisions. So, we’ll give you a chance to tell him on your own. But we’ll be keeping an extra eye on you. So if you’re waiting too long to tell him or we think you’re behaving in a way that’s concerning, then the deal’s off. Sound fair?”

Silence. After a moment, Lydia nodded, her gaze in her lap. Adam gave her a squeeze.

“And when you decide to tell him, we’ll be right by your side, if you want us to be.”

Lydia nodded again.

After that decision, not much more could be said. Still, the Maitlands remained faithfully by Lydia’s side until sleep overtook them. And Lydia, who usually slept soundly with Adam and Barbara next to her, did not find herself to be as lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter started as just a one shot but then I got really high and figured out how to expand it into an entire fic from this chapter alone. Just a fun fact for ya!
> 
> I know I'm really milking the Maitland-Deetz storyline, but I promise bug boy is going to be making his way into the picture very soon. 😈
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The weeks continued on, bringing forth a very important day in the Maitland-Deetz household: Halloween, and Lydia’s sixteenth birthday. However, despite living in a genuine haunted house, Lydia found her spirits to be crushingly low. For the first time in forever, she did not have a costume, instead pulling on black jeans and a black sweatshirt as she dressed for school.

She kept her head down as she traveled down the stairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

_“Happy birthday!”_

Surprised by the loud cheers from the four adults of the household, Lydia stumbled back, hitting her head on the doorframe. She winced, grabbing at the back of her head.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Barbara had rushed to her side, softly laying a hand on her shoulder. Lydia stepped away from the female ghost’s gentle grasp.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Lydia,” her father called. “Where’s your costume?” Lydia shrugged.

“I couldn’t really think of one this year. I didn’t really have the time with my schoolwork. Plus a lot of people aren’t wearing one, anyway.”

Which was a giant lie.

As Charles and Lydia pulled up to the school, unicorns, famous rappers, and cartoon characters of all sizes, shapes, and colors flocked into the front door. Charles sighed, resting his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Missing mom?”

Lydia’s gaze shot up at her dad, then back down into her lap.

“Yeah.” She managed to croak.

“Do you want to go home? We could play hooky and watch some horror movies to celebrate.”

As enticing as this sounded, Lydia shook her head.

“No thanks. We’re already here. I don’t mind going.” Charles nodded slowly.

“Got it. Well, if you change your mind and need me to pick you up, you let me know.” He gave her a kiss on the head. “We’ll celebrate tonight. Love you, birthday girl.”

Despite herself, Lydia smiled.

“Love you.”

The day passed by in a numb blur. In history class, her teacher made everyone go around the room and share what they were dressed as. When it was Lydia’s turn, she sighed.

“Decided to go as myself. Scariest thing I can think of.”

Her peers laughed. She smiled. After she decked Anthony in the face, Lydia anticipated a lot of cold shoulders and careful side eyes. And while her classmates weren’t singing her praises up and down the hallways, a few of them did congratulate her for putting the bully in his place. Plus, it was pretty satisfying to see Anthony avoid her gaze in the halls, his face still slightly swollen from the emergency dental work. Just then, a classmate walked through the door, brandishing a late pass.

“Sorry, Mrs. Williams. I stayed behind in my last class to talk to Mr. Heyburn.”

“Not a problem, Carter. Love your costume!”

“Thanks. It’s from the movie _Alien.”_

The boy took his seat, dressed in baggy jeans and a white T-shirt that was splattered with crimson red fake blood. The alien head protruded out of the chest of his shirt, leaving a ragged, blood-soaked hole in its wake. Lydia’s ears rang and her vision swam in front of her. Unable to hear her teacher begin the lesson at the front of the class, Lydia could only think about another hole in someone’s chest, ragged and soaked in blood. A hole that she had put there, ending a life, without a second thought. Flesh giving way, bones crunching as she forced the pole through his back, exactly as she had planned. Without ever thinking if there was another way.

_I guess I am a bad person._

That was the last thought Lydia had before she tumbled out of her seat and onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short one today! I really wanted to get it posted because the next chapter has A LOT of family drama...
> 
> Also starting to crank out chapters that get the clown who found crystal meth back into the picture 🤡😈
> 
> Hope you guys are still enjoying!
> 
> Also is it cliche and totally cheesy for Lyds to be born on Halloween? Yes. But she’s definitely a Scorpio and how can our girl be born on literally any other day of the year? Makes no sense to me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh boy, do I have some FAMILY DRAMA and TRAUMA in store for you TODAY.
> 
> Enjoy~~~

As soon as Lydia entered the doorway of her home, she was hit with a tidal wave of concerned adults.

“Are you alright?”

“Do you need help getting up to your room?”

“Do you need water?”

“Something to eat?”

_“Stop! Everyone stop!”_

Everyone took a step back. In the middle of the chaos, Lydia held up her hands in defense, her head down, her eyes screwed shut. She opened them, looking up and sharing a knowing look with the Maitlands.

“I think we need to have a meeting. Now.” She announced, pushing past the group and taking a seat at the dining room table. Once everyone took a seat, she began.

“I need to be honest with you guys. I made this big deal about communicating and talking and shit, but I haven’t been holding up my end of the deal. When we first moved here, after dad proposed to Delia, I, uh…”

Adam placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Barbara took her hand, grazing her thumb along Lydia’s skin.

“I tried to kill myself.”

The air in the room became thick. After a moment, Charles stood, his chair toppling backwards onto the floor with a startling bang. He strode over to Lydia, grabbing her by the shoulders and standing her up, embracing her. He rested his head on top of hers, wishing he could keep her here, protected, forever.

“I wrote a note, and went up to the roof, and I wanted to jump. But I didn’t. Obviously.” Lydia deadpanned, muffled against her father’s chest. He released her, looking up towards the Maitlands.

“Did you two know?”

Adam began to stutter, but Barbara cut him off.

“A few weeks ago, Lydia had a bad dream. We heard her all the way from the attic. That’s when she told us. We told her that she shouldn’t keep it a secret, and that we’d support her when she was ready to talk about it.”

Charles blinked hard. His hands still on Lydia’s shoulders, he moved her aside, taking a step towards the Maitlands.

“Let me get this straight. You knew my daughter attempted suicide, and you didn’t tell me?”

“With all due respect, Charles,” Adam interjected. “She asked us not to tell you, and we told her that while it’s not a secret to keep, as long as she didn’t procrastinate in telling you or start behaving in a concerning manner, that it was up to her to have this discussion. We think that she’s mature enough to handle her own personal business.”

“ _But she is still a child!”_ Charles boomed. “And now a mentally ill one at that. It’s not rocket science that people who contemplate and attempt suicide are more than capable of doing so again.”

He paused, his eyes darting between the pair.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“ _Whoa!”_

Lydia stepped in between her dad and the Maitlands.

“First of all, it would’ve been pretty much your fault, anyway, with how you proposed to Delia out of the fucking blue and dropped that shit bomb on me. But after I told Barbara and Adam, the only thing I could think about is how I would’ve left you behind if I went through with it. And second of all, how dare you speak to them like that. In case you forgot, they fucking _died,_ and here they are taking care of your goddamn daughter like I’m their own.”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose before planting a firm hand on Lydia’s back.

“We are going to go talk about this in your room.” His gaze switched to the Maitlands. “Privately.”

He turned, shuffling Lydia off with him, but not before she could cast an urgent look towards the Maitlands. Time stood still. Barbara stood and strode towards the stairs without a word. Adam rose and turned to address Delia, and when words failed him, he, too, retreated to the stairs. Delia did all she could do, which was sit and stare at the blank expanse of the dining room table.

In the attic, Barbara paced, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“What the fuck was I thinking? Charles is right. She’s a child. A child who’s been through so much over the past few months. And when you have a mental illness, you don’t always think logically. Who’s to say she wouldn’t have attempted again? And it would be all our fault. And what’s worse is that she actually had to defend us against Charles today. I mean, she’s fifteen—sixteen—for fucks sake.”

Adam sat on the sofa, head in his hands. For once he couldn’t find anything to say, because his wife was right. As she always was.

A knock came from the other side of the door. However, it was heavier than Lydia’s staccato knocks that the couple had grown so fond of. Barbara glanced at Adam, who met her gaze and stood. Wiping her face, Barbara sheepishly answered the door.

“Hi there.” Charles greeted with a sad smile. “Mind if we talk?”

Barbara looked to her husband, who gave a tired shrug.

“Come in.” She replied quietly, her eyes on the floor.

Charles entered, Barbara closing the door behind him. As Barbara walked to join her husband, Charles briefly surveyed the couple, recalling the first time they met. Or rather, the first time Charles was able to see the pair.

_I don’t want your help! I’m bringing my mom back and none of you can stop me!_

_What?!_ Charles remembered responding. _Who is she talking to?_ He thought.

Lydia began muttering some sort of incantation from a worn, dusty book as the house began to rumble and shake. As she finished, a woman arose, seemingly out of thin air, her body stiff and her eyes blank. She was beautiful, radiant, even, but she wasn’t Emily. She screamed.

_Barbara?!_ Called his daughter and…a man, who rushed over to the banister that Lydia was leaning up against, then towards the floating woman, moving the soul box and attempting to pull her back down to the ground, to no avail.

_Oh God, what did you do?_

_I don’t know, I thought I was bringing my mom back!_

_Help her!_

_I don’t know how, I don’t know what I did!_

_What’s happening to her?!_

This man, this woman, Lydia… _knew them?_ She knew the woman’s name, and was having an _entire conversation_ with the man. Then it hit him. _The ghosts._ The ghosts that possessed him and his fiancée and his dinner guests. The ghosts that were supposedly in the room after he had proposed to Delia. They were here. They were the people who had tragically died in this house, falling to their deaths through the living room floorboards. Except, they weren’t pale, or horribly disfigured, or ghastly or ghoulish in any way. They looked like a normal couple, so frantic and terrified as chaos unfolded around them. And now, they looked…dejected, and exhausted, with red eyes and fidgeting, wringing hands. All because of him. And all for his daughter. Charles sighed.

“I am so sorry for how I spoke to the both of you tonight. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“We should’ve told you.” Barbara interrupted. “We…never had any children of our own, clearly, so Lydia seems so mature and grown up to us. But we forget that she’s still so young.”

“No, you’re right. She is grown up. And mature. And smart, and determined. And feisty.” Charles blew a light chuckle out of his nose, smiling fondly. “And running and telling me takes that away from her. And I know you guys would keep a careful eye on her and tell me as soon as something was suspicious. Giving her room to make that decision…you gave her a voice. You’re letting her be herself. Which are both things I need to learn how to do more. But I’m trying.”

“And we think you’re doing a great job.” Adam assured, clapping a hand onto Charles’ shoulder. Charles smiled.

“Thank you. She and I made the decision to sign both of us up for therapy. And while we won’t be able to talk about _everything_ we’ve been through, it’s a start. And we’re taking a trip, just her and I. To Lake George. That’s the last place we went before Emily passed. That’s her birthday present. We leave tomorrow morning.”

“That all sounds fantastic.” Barbara gushed. Charles nodded.

“Which is why we have to get on with our celebrations for tonight. She’s in her room taking a nap. She’s still feeling weak from her episode at school today. But a little red-haired birdie told me about plans for a chocolate cake?” He raised a brow at the ghosts. Adam and Barbara turned to each other, then back to Charles, beaming.

Later, the household found themselves hunkered down in the living room, surrounded by pizza and chocolate cake. A horror movie flashed on the television, lighting up the room. Barbara and Delia giggled together with every jump scare as they shared a bottle of wine. Lydia laughed through mouthfuls of cake every time her father startled in response to the events on the screen. Adam, next to Charles, quivered, his face buried in a pillow.

“You know, Adam,” Charles called over the screams and gushing noises of the movie, clapping a hand on the ghost’s back. “I thought I’d have to hold and comfort my wife during the movie, but my night is turning out a little different than I pictured.”

Everyone, including Adam, laughed, surrounded by each other in the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Light mentions of suicide.

A fire crackled in the fireplace. A dark tree stood tall in the living room, filling the air with its fresh, woodsy smell. A menorah twinkled on the windowsill. Despite it no longer being Christmas, low carols emitted from the record player that Adam insisted was left on. Not that Lydia minded it. Any of it, really. 

_There’ll be parties for hosting_

_Marshmallows for toasting_

_And caroling out in the snow._

_There’ll be scary ghost stories_

_And tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago._

“I have a ton of ghost stories, but none of them are scary. Like at all.” Lydia remarked with a smirk, munching on a leftover latke. Barbara, who was reading under the cable knit blanket that Lydia had gotten her from Lake George, pointedly rolled her eyes at the girl, but not without a smile.

A sudden flash of lightning and distant rumble of thunder made the pair jolt, their heads snapping urgently towards the nearest window. 

“A thunderstorm in December? That’s strange.” Barbara said, cocking her head. “I hope your dad and Delia can get back alright.”

Charles and Delia had left the trio home for the night, going on a date to some fancy restaurant a few towns over, as part of Charles’ Christmas gift to his new wife. Lydia continued to ponder the window.

“Lydia, are you alright?”

Her gaze switched to the clock on the mantle. 10:00. Her father and stepmom would probably be home any minute. Just enough time to create some mischief.

“Do you think that static shock still affects you guys?” Lydia questioned, titling her head. Barbara titled her head right back.

“What do you mean?”

Lydia turned towards the stairs.

“Hey, Adam?” She called.

“Hey, Lydia?”

The girl rolled her eyes, glaring at Barbara.

“With an answer like that, I don’t feel bad about what I’m about to do.” She whispered, returning her attention back to the stairs. “Can you come down here? I forgot about some homework I have and I need your help.”

As another bout of thunder rolled in the distance, Adam came eagerly bounding down the stairs.

“I thought your teachers didn’t give you any homework over the break. And it’s already ten o’clock, don’t you wanna start this in the morning?”

Lydia rose, striding over to Adam.

“Don’t worry, it’s really quick.” Lydia reassured, grabbing his hand and leading him over to one end of the couch. “Okay, stand right here.”

“Okay!” Adam gushed, bouncing on his toes and directing an excited smile at his wife, who smiled back and arched her eyebrows in disbelief of her husband’s eager yet gullible nature.

“What class is it for?” Adam questioned.

“Science.”

“I’ve never heard of quick science homework.”

“Just trust me.”

Lydia positioned herself at the other end of the couch, looking down, then back up at her victim. Scuffing her feet along the rug until she met Adam, she reached out her arm, her finger joining with Adam’s bicep. At the telltale _snap_ of static electricity leaving Lydia’s body, Adam yelped, recoiling and jumping back, rubbing at the spot where Lydia’s finger was a moment ago. Clutching her stomach, Lydia dissolved into a fit of giggles, Barbara joining her from the couch.

“How is that science?!” Adam complained, failing to hide a smile.

“Scientific method. Step one, make an observation: I observed lightning outside the window, and I observed that I have two ghosts in my house. Next, formulate a question from said observation: Does static electricity still affect ghosts? Step three, create a hypothesis, preferably using an ‘if, then’ statement: If I shuffle my feet across the rug and touch Adam, then he will get shocked. Then, conduct an experiment and draw a conclusion, and my conclusion is that I was indeed correct.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I can’t be mad at you.” Adam relinquished. “But I think I have a scientific method of my own.”

“Oh yeah?” Lydia challenged, her triumphant smirk still plastered on her face.

“Yes. Step one, make an observation, and I’m observing a feisty little girl in front of me.”

“You’re a dork.” Lydia retorted.

“Step two, formulate a question: Can a ghost, such as myself, shock a live human being? Step three, create a hypothesis, preferably using an ‘if, then’ statement: If _I_ shuffle my feet across the rug and touch Lydia, then _she_ will get shocked. Then,” A devilish smile flashed across Adam’s face as he began to dig his feet into the rug, moving towards Lydia. “Conduct the experiment. Come here, you!”

Lydia yelped, darting behind the couch, Adam in close pursuit. As the pair scurried around the living room, the door opened. Distracted by her father and stepmother’s entrance, Lydia stumbled, only to be captured by Adam as he grabbed her wrists from behind, enveloping her in a bear hug. At the trademark _pop_ of static shock, Lydia squealed, then crumbled into Adam as she released full, guttural laughter. Adam did the same, not releasing his grasp on the girl. Despite their confusion, Charles and Delia laughed, too.

“Barbara,” Charles began. “I thought I left you in charge. You’re a terrible babysitter.”

“Hey!” Adam and Lydia whined through their laughter. Barbara chuckled, shaking her head.

“It’s two against one. Hard to keep them under control when they both have the combined mental age of twelve.”

“If we both add up to twelve, I’m at least seven. Adam’s definitely five.”

“Hey, you started it!” Adam retorted, struggling to regain his composure.

“I rest my case.”

“What’s even going on here?” Delia asked through light giggles.

“Nothing.” Lydia answered breathily, sharing a glance with Adam. The pair smiled, directing their gazes towards Barbara.

“Don’t even think about it.” Barbara warned, trying her best to be intimidating, and failing miserably.

“You get her from the left, I’ll get her from the right?” Lydia asked, elbowing Adam.

“Deal.”

As the trio chased each other around the living room, Charles couldn’t help but swell with pride at his daughter. Her eyes were bright, her giggles filled the air like little, twinkling bells. A far cry from where she was just a few short months ago. Although therapy would never be able to release them from the control of grief, it could at least loosen the hold. His nightmares of finding his little girl hanging from the ceiling or impaled on a bird bath began to lessen, knowing she was safe and protected. Blinking hard, Charles’ smile fell as he pondered an important question he never thought to ask.

“Charles? Are you alright?” Delia asked, gently grazing his arm.

Barbara stopped her squirming on the couch, the threesome slowly turning to meet him.

“Dad? You okay?”

Charles inhaled sharply, blinking hard again.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Dad.” Lydia protested sternly.

Charles sighed. “Come here, Lydia.”

After shooting a confused glance at the Maitlands, Lydia rose and walked to her father, who wrapped her in a hug. He sighed again. He hated to ruin her happiness.

“When you went up to the roof, what stopped you?”

Lydia balled the back of her father’s suit jacket in her fists. Thunder growled, now much closer than before. Into his shirt, she muttered:

“Beetlejuice.”

Hail began to pelt the house from all directions, surrounding the group that suddenly felt trapped inside.

“I’m sorry?” Charles demanded, holding his daughter at arms’ length.

“Beetlejuice.”

 _“Lydia!”_ The Maitlands shouted, jumping up.

“Whatever you do, _do not_ say his name again!” Adam begged frantically.

Lydia huffed in disbelief, shocked that she had come so close to summoning the demon once again. The first time she had said his name in over half a year and it felt… _good._ Happy memories flooded back. Memories of Lydia being able to be her strange and unusual self without fear, or judgement, or pain. All stuff she wasn’t able to do since before her mom died. Someone actually being there for her, maybe even caring about her, in his own strange way. Someone, like her, and Adam and Barbara, who just wanted to be seen. Three out of the four more literally than figuratively. But still. Despite being tempted to utter his name just one more time, the faces of terror that stared back at her convinced her otherwise.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t even realize.”

The four adults deflated, all breathing sighs of relief.

“No, it’s my fault for asking you to repeat yourself.”

They all stood rigid as hail assaulted their home. Thunder crashed overhead and lightning encroached through the windows. _If it’s communication they want, then it’s communication they’ll get._

“What if he came back?”

Charles recognized the twinge of hope in his daughter’s voice.

“Uninvited?”

Lydia swayed where she stood.

“Not necessarily.”

“Let me get this straight,” Charles began, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “You’d want the demon who almost killed me, who married you, who could’ve done who knows what else, back in our lives?”

“Adam stopped him! And, after I killed him, he just, I don’t know, chilled out.”

Charles glanced over at Adam.

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Understood. Anyway, this is not a discussion we’re having. End of story.”

Oh yeah?” Lydia spat, backing out of her father’s grasp. “How well has that mentality worked for you before? It’s kind of what got us into that mess in the first place.” Lydia turned threateningly, eyeing the remaining adults in the room. “I mean, you all want to pretend that Beetlejuice never happened, when he’s really the reason we’re all together. You guys can’t act like you haven’t thought about him since everything happened. We all keep badgering each other about ‘communication this,’ and ‘communication that.’ If you really mean it, then I think it’s time you all start fucking acting like it. Let’s do it. Let’s sit down, and talk, and _communicate_ about the biggest fucking talking point we have.”

Wind whipped against the house, causing it to creak ominously. The adults, having nothing to pit against her rock solid argument, fidgeted where they stood. All except for Charles.

“Fine. But I’d like to get out of my suit. I say we all get ready for bed and reconvene down here in ten minutes for what I think is going to be a _very_ short conversation.”

Lydia turned back towards her father, her eyes narrowing,

“We’ll see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gettin' ~sPiCy~
> 
> Also Lydia is a little closet nerd and Adam LIVES (dies?) for it


	13. Chapter 13

Charles paced in the living room alone as thunder continued to rumble, the storm now retreating. He rushed downstairs, wanting to be the first line of defense for when Lydia arrived. He was the only one who had the nerve to deal with her, and even that was slipping out of his grasp at an alarming speed. Delia, though she tried her hardest and always emitted love and positivity, didn’t have the gall to handle the most difficult parts of his daughter. And Charles wasn’t sure if Adam and Barbara even had it in them to ever put their foot down in front of Lydia. Or anyone.

A creak from the stairs stopped Charles in his tracks. Delia.

“Charles, why don’t you sit? All this brooding is going to give you wrinkles.”

“No, you don’t understand Lydia like I do. If I sit, then she’ll feel like she’s in control, and she will _not_ take no for an answer.”

“Yes, but we don’t have to say yes or no to anything tonight. She just asked us to _communicate_ and _talk_. Can’t we just give her that?” Delia looked up at her husband, gently caressing his face and planting a reassuring kiss on his lips. Charles sighed.

“I guess we can.”

The pair turned urgently at movement in their periphery. Adam and Barbara stood at the bottom of the stairs. Barbara sheepishly clung to her husband’s arm, while Adam’s face was stern, his mouth set in a firm line. He looked at Charles, eyebrows arched expectantly.

“What’s the plan?”

Charles shrugged, his arms flopping to his sides.

“I don’t know. Let her talk. Hear her out. Then go from there, I guess.”

Adam tilted his head in pure and utter disbelief at what he just heard. He charged over towards Charles, leaving his wife in the middle of the living room.

“ _That’s_ the plan? Charles, we can’t let that, that _thing_ back into this house. I mean, after everything—“

“Adam, Adam.” Delia cajoled with a smile, reaching out to place her hands on the ghost’s shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “We’re just going to let her talk. She _is_ right after all. We all can’t just keeping going on and pretending like this never happened. Some of us—” She looked deliberately at Charles. “Learned that lesson the hard way. We would all benefit from talking about this. And it’s not like we can talk to anyone else about what happened, so we’re all we’ve got.” She guided Adam towards the couch, pushing on his shoulders gently to get him to sit. She then turned to Barbara, eyeing her next victim. “I’m sure you both have a lot of emotions tied to this. And _everyone_ will have an opportunity to talk. It’s only fair. So we’ll all be able to share our feelings.”

Delia glided over the other adult woman of the household, grabbing her hand and laying an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the end of the couch opposite her husband.

“You guys will sit next to Lydia and keep her calm.”

“ _Keep her calm_?!” Adam exclaimed, turning towards Charles, who huffed out a light chuckle in agreement, not feeling the slightest bit jealous. Better them than him.

“Yes.” Delia affirmed. “You both have very soothing energies, and I can tell that Lydia is really affected by that. You’re both more powerful than you know. But the only way to keep her calm is if you’re calm yourselves. And I have just the thing!” Delia rummaged around in the pocket of her robe, withdrawing deep purple stones, placing them on the coffee table in front of the Maitlands.

“Amethyst! It’s also known as the ‘intuitive eye’ and it brings clarity and calm vibes to where they’re needed most. Plus, I’m wearing my rose quartz and ruby!” Delia sang, pulling out more amethyst, placing the stones on every flat surface she could find. “Rose quartz and ruby are all about healing, empowerment, openness, and vulnerability!”

Delia smiled at the three remaining adults before her. Charles scrubbed a hand over his face. Adam’s mouth was agape at Delia’s overly confident attitude. And Barbara had her arms wrapped around herself, looking down at the floor. Sensing extra distress emanating from the other female, Delia waltzed over, placing an extra amethyst in front of Barbara, giving her a small hip bump. Barbara looked up, startled.

“Gotcha a little something extra.” Delia whispered with a wink, nodding towards the additional stone on the coffee table. “Us girls gotta stick together.”

Feeling little effects from the stones, but appreciating the gesture, Barbara smiled wearily before returning her gaze to the floor.

Sensing a commanding presence, all the adults turned towards the stairs. There stood Lydia, arms crossed, dressed in black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt. A black sweatshirt that was stolen from her dad’s dresser. Plus, she came down _eleven_ minutes after her father dismissed the group, not ten. All moves that were made in order to establish dominance.

“Lydia!” Delia cheered with open arms. A glare from the teen caused Delia to immediately plop down into the armchair closest to the couch, folding her hands over her lap.

“Lydia, honey. Come sit.” Charles instructed calmly.

“You sit.” Lydia spat, not moving from her spot.

Charles eyed Delia, who gave him an encouraging nod. He lowered himself so he sat on the edge of the coffee table, in front of the empty spot on the couch in between the Maitlands. Charles looked up expectantly at his daughter. Slowly, she trailed into the living room, eyeing each adult as she took her seat. Adam swallowed.

“I know you guys already made a plan for how you’re going to overpower me.”

“That’s partially correct.” Charles admitted, stunning Lydia. “We did make a plan. But we made a plan to _talk._ And listen. But _everyone_ is getting an opportunity to share their thoughts. It’s only fair.” Charles again looked to Delia, who flashed him a smile and a thumbs up.

“And I think I speak for everyone when I say that you can go first.”

Lydia blinked hard, the arms crossed over her chest falling slightly as each adult looked to her softly. All except for Adam, who looked like he was about to have an aneurysm if he still could. Lydia almost laughed at the comforting predictability of Adam’s easily flustered disposition, but instead trudged forward.

“I think Beetlejuice should come back. I know he did a lot of terrible, shitty things, but he was lonely. The loneliest guy I’ve ever met. I mean, can you imagine not having a single friend for your entire life? And I know that doesn’t excuse how he acted.” Lydia held up her hands defensively as Charles opened his mouth to speak. “But he was desperate. And you can say the same thing about me.”

“Absolutely not.” Charles interrupted. Lydia only pushed further.

“I _was_ desperate. And _I_ did a lot of shitty, terrible things. I kicked my dad out of his own house. And then I fucked over anyone who tried to stand in my way when I thought I could bring Mom back. And then after this giant mess that _I_ helped create, I killed him. Without ever thinking if there was another way.”

Lydia had grown quiet by the end of her speech, speaking in a light whisper.

“Lydia,” Delia began, reaching out to rest a hand on the girl’s knee, moving from her spot on the armchair to sitting next to Charles on the coffee table, pushing her crystals out of the way. “I really don’t think there was another way.”

Lydia looked up, her jaw tensing, her eyes narrowing.

“How do you know?!” She argued, shoving Delia’s hand off of her knee. “You weren’t even there when I made the plan!”

Delia’s hand lingered longingly in the air. She returned it to her lap, but her eye contact with Lydia did not falter.

“I may not know if there was another way, but what I am fairly certain about is how long you’ve been thinking about this. How many times have you run through everything in your head, just over and over again? Thinking about every little detail of what happened?”

Lydia shrugged, looking down. “I don’t know. Probably a million times.”

“And in all that time, have you thought of anything that could’ve been done differently?”

Lydia bit her lower lip, working it thoughtfully between her teeth. She shook her head.

“So there’s a good chance that there may not have been another way. I know you…liked him. And I know you feel like you’re just as bad as him, but you can’t compare yourself to him. You were a teenager acting out after an immense loss. And he took full advantage of that and manipulated you.”

“No, when teenagers act out, they egg a car or graffiti the side of a building. Not summon a demon.”

“Yes, but,” Charles said, reaching out for his daughter and laying a gentle hand on her arm. “You tend to do things a little differently.”

Everyone let out a breathy, albeit tense, laugh.

“But I still think he should be allowed back. He was my friend. We had a lot of fun, and he was there for me. He was lonely.”

“Lydia, he tried to kill me. Twice.”

“Yeah, but the second time we had the plan. And I tried to kill myself. Without him, you wouldn’t have your daughter.”

This time, Charles was silent.

“Lydia?”

Adam broke the silence. She looked up, being met with Adam’s warm, troubled eyes.

“What about Barbara?” 

Charles’ jaw dropped. Adam actually did it. In his own way, he put his foot down. Every gaze in the room settled on Barbara. She looked up, blue eyes watery with impending tears. Although she had freed Lydia of her guilt and absolved her of any responsibility, that did not absolve Beetlejuice. And there was no way he could be pardoned. He knowingly put Barbara in danger in order to psychologically manipulate Lydia. Barbara was almost gone for good. Adam almost lost his _wife._ And although Lydia could argue that Beetlejuice was never actually going to go through with it, she couldn’t be certain. There was no way to prove it.

“I’m going to be honest.” Barbara started, her voice cracking. “But most of you aren’t going to like what I say.” Everyone cocked their heads in confusion, and Lydia tried her best to hide an interested smile.

“Delia’s right. He was manipulative, and he took full advantage of Lydia. At his worst, he was life-threatening, and at his best, he was…unhinged. But Lydia’s right. We all can’t act like we haven’t been thinking about him. And I have. And I realized…we can’t pretend like he isn’t coming back.”

Everyone looked at her, baffled that she was actually on Lydia’s side. This time, Lydia didn’t try to hide her smile. Charles shifted, turning so he was nearly knee-to-knee with the woman.

“Please elaborate.”

“He was summoned here. He was alive here. And he died here. And he and Lydia did have a strong connection. We all went through a lot together, him included. And as I said, he was unhinged. I just have a hard time believing that he left, never to return again.”

Everyone looked to the floor, the weight of Barbara’s realization seeping into the room.

“So are you saying that we just summon him, right here right now?” Adam asked her incredulously.

“No. But if he would come back here eventually, then it might be in our best interest to do it on our own terms. Maybe it would give us the higher ground.”

“So you forgive him for almost getting rid of you for good? For almost taking you away from me forever?”

His voice cracked on the last word. Charles looked away. Delia laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Lydia rested a hand on his back, like he had done for her so many times before. She laid her head on his shoulder and brought her free hand up to his arm, giving him a squeeze, not letting go.

“I never said I forgave him. But if we _were_ to do something, it would be for everyone’s safety. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. Besides, once we spent some time with him, he did calm down a bit. I’d even dare to say he was actually…kind of fun. And,” Barbara swayed, jostling Lydia with a shoulder bump and shooting her a playful smile. “This spitfire taught him quite a lesson.”

“This might be a good thing.” Delia added. “I mean, if he really was as lonely as you all say, then this could be spiritually healing for him.”

At this, Charles stood angrily and walked away, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a breath and turned to face his wife.

“I’m not trying to spiritually heal a demon, Delia! Not after he married my _underage_ daughter!”

“But dad, it was just a green card—”

“You don’t know that! How do you know he didn’t…want something more?”

The other three adults winced and swallowed hard, tightening whatever grip they had on Lydia.

“Well, do you guys remember when he had you all chained up?”

“No.” Barbara replied blankly after a moment. Lydia looked to her sheepishly.

“You were, uh, a little busy.”

Barbara pondered for a moment before realization dawned on her. Lydia continued.

“He could’ve done that any time he wanted to if he wanted to hurt me. Especially once we kicked you and Delia out of the house.”

Charles stared vacantly at the floor for a long time. Realizing that any sense of order and control was being thrown out the window, Adam stood, rushing over to Charles.

“Charles, you can’t be seriously considering this. We can’t let this happen.”

Charles let out a world-weary sigh.

“I’m not letting anything happen yet. Not without a plan. But if him coming back is bound to happen anyway, then we have to do what we can to try and ensure our safety. And I have to do what I can to ensure my daughter’s safety.”

Adam looked down, pursing his lips. Slowly, he gave a nod of understanding and defeat. Anything for Lydia.

Charles placed a hand on the ghost’s shoulder, turning him to face the couch. Lydia sat in the middle, flanked by Barbara and Delia, who had taken his spot on the couch. The trio stared back expectantly with crossed arms and small, sly smiles.

“Adam, I believe we’ve been outnumbered by three very strong, intelligent, and feisty women.”

“We absolutely have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all we STAN the dream team cohesive parenting unit of four. Second, I never planned for Delia to be the one in charge but MY GOD WHO WOULDA THUNK SHE ACTUALLY KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING. Like I didn't plan for her to be so strong in this chapter but I'm glad she was, we got some really sweet moments between her and Lydia and Delia got to be *~*~stepmom~*~* like I'm always so about Barbara getting to be Mom but Delia being Mom??? Sign me the fuck UP
> 
> Also Barb spittin' STRAIGHT FACTS.


	14. Chapter 14

Lydia shifted, turning over in her bed to look at her clock. 6:37. With the conversation from the night prior still buzzing in her ears, she threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, her feet grazing the cold floor. She sat for a moment, listening to the sound of her breathing contrasted against the silence of the house. The calm before the storm. Slowly she rose, making her way downstairs.

She surveyed the kitchen as she stood in the doorway. The glistening Keurig caught her eye. She cocked her head, walking over to it. Reaching into the cabinet, she fished around for a mug, the ceramic cups clinking against each other as she withdrew her choice. Wiping her finger over the front, the mug read “I LOVE INTERCOURSE-Pennsylvania.” Lydia chuckled to herself, recalling how she and Dead Mom found it in a Goodwill and triumphantly brought it home, much to her father’s chagrin. She popped a coffee pod into the machine, and after blindly pressing a few buttons, the Keurig buzzed and whirred and dribbled until she was met with a steaming cup of coffee.

Taking it, she inhaled as the steam wafted up towards her. It smelled…like coffee. Nothing particularly special. She took a sip, scrunching her nose as the bitter drink hit her tongue, relaxing as it settled into a deep, nutty flavor. She shrugged, taking another sip. Not so bad once she was able to brace herself against the bitterness. She sat at the table, staring out the window at the impending sunrise.

“Lydia?”

She spun around, just catching her mug as it wobbled from her sudden movement.

“Fuck, Adam. This might be the first time you’ve actually scared someone. Good job.”

Adam blew a tired chuckle out of his nose. “Language, please.”

“If you don’t wanna hear me curse, then don’t scare me.”

Adam chuckled again as he moved closer and took a seat next to the teen. “Are you alright? I know you’re an early riser, but this is a bit extreme.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Adam smiled, shaking his head. “You’re a little piece of work, you know that?”

“I happen to take a lot of pride in that aspect of my personality, thank you very much.”

“As you should.”

The pair stared out the window, watching the hazy blue of an early winter morning.

“Hey Adam?”

“Hey Lydia?”

Lydia rolled her eyes as Adam let out a weary laugh.

“The stuff you said about Beej touching you and groping you and harassing you? I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen when he’s back. I know he was, like, desperate and stuff, but that’s still no excuse. And I’m sorry we didn’t talk about it last night. It got really intense and we talked about all this different stuff and then Barbara—”

“Lydia, Lydia.” Adam hushed, reaching an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

“I know you’re not happy about him coming back. I’m really the only one that’s happy about it. But this is your house, too. And I want to make sure you feel safe.”

Adam smiled tenderly at her, giving her a squeeze.

“Thanks, kiddo. I’m not going to lie, I’m not happy. But Barbara made a good point. And if bringing him back on our own terms can keep you and your family safe, then I can’t say no. That’s all I want.”

“That wife of yours.” Lydia joked with a lopsided grin. “She’s too smart for her own good.”

“Nah,” Adam replied, smiling thoughtfully. “She’s the perfect amount of smart.”

Lydia considered the ghost for a moment, taking a breath.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

She glared at him, her smile giving away her true feelings. It faded.

“No, like a…personal…question.”

Adam straightened, taking a hesitant, and unnecessary, breath.

“Uh, sure, Lydia. Anything.”

Lydia turned to look out the window, the sky lightening.

“Did you and Barb want kids?”

Adam’s grip on Lydia’s shoulder tightened. He rubbed his thumb thoughtfully along the fabric of her sweatshirt.

“I suppose we did. Just never got around to realistically considering it, I guess.”

“Did you ever think about it? What it would be like?”

“Sure. Loads of times. But daydreaming about it and actually doing it are two completely different things.”

“What did you want?”

“Well, above all, a happy, healthy baby. But, if I’m really being honest…a little girl.”

Lydia looked back at Adam, who met her with warm eyes and an even warmer smile. She smiled back, laying her head on his shoulder, Adam laying his head on top of hers. She took a breath. _Here goes nothing._

“I love you, Adam.”

Adam removed his head.

Lydia opened her mouth, ready to backpedal, ready to relieve him of what loving her back really meant: it was sticky, and complicated. She was sticky and complicated. She was mean, and desperate, with a rough exterior and even rougher interior. She wasn’t the little girl he wanted. He wanted a little girl with his wife’s perfect, golden curls, and chubby little fingers and toes, not some gangly, overgrown dwarf who hacked away at her hair with rusty craft scissors over the bathroom sink and—

Adam pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of her hair before laying his head back down.

“I love you too, Lydia.”

Lydia closed her eyes, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The pair sat, it didn’t matter for how long, watching the sky brighten, a light, overnight dusting of snow sparkling on the trees outside.

“I’m sorry, but what does that mug say?”

Lydia laughed, picking up her head and wiping away tears she only just realized were there.

“‘I love Intercourse, Pennsylvania.’”

“They could’ve written ‘Pennsylvania’ a bit bigger.”

“That’s the joke.”

“Well it’s a very vulgar mug for you to be using, young lady. Is that—are you drinking coffee? Black coffee?”

“The Keurig is still on if you want a cup.”

Adam sighed, rising and walking over to the counter. Lydia continued to watch the trees, birds landing upon their branches, the snow plopping to the ground as the morning sun melted it away.

“Lydia?”

“You have no clue how to use the Keurig, do you?”

“You know me so well.”

Not long after, Barbara made her way into the kitchen, her fleece pajama bottoms dancing along her ankles. She was greeted with the sight of Adam and Lydia conversing lightly over their morning coffee.

“So you see how that cardinal has a bit of a brown undertone?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the female. Female birds are typically a duller color than the males, since the males use their bright color as a way to attract mates. And females need to camouflage themselves when they’re protecting the nest.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee?”

The pair turned as Barbara stood with her hands on her hips, a smirk on her face.

“No honey, I think I’m an appropriate age.”

“Not you, Adam.”

Lydia laughed into her mug, preferring not to answer. Adam stood and strode over to his wife, planting a kiss on her lips. He looked back at Lydia thoughtfully, throwing her a discreet wink, then turned his attention back to his wife.

“Lydia taught me how to use the Keurig. Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?”

Adam turned to busy himself unnecessarily, not waiting for an answer. Barbara cocked her head.

“Morning, Barb.”

Barbara jumped, startled at the sight of Lydia now standing directly in front of her. She softened, smiling.

“Good morning, Lydia.”

Lydia’s eyes darted down to the floor then back up to Barbara, the girl stepping forward to embrace her, nestling her head into the woman’s shoulder.

“I love you, Barbara.”

Barbara stood, mouth agape, tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She looked up, her husband meeting her with a knowing wink. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around the girl, bringing a hand up to tenderly stroke her hair, whispering in her ear.

“I love you so much, Lydia.”

As the morning wore on, Charles and Delia joined the rest of the household downstairs, with their crumpled pajamas and tired eyes.

“Today? You want to summon him _today_?”

“Yeah, dad. I go back to school a few days after New Year’s, so this would give me enough time to sort everything out with him and have some semblance of control on the situation.”

“What if we wait until the summer? You’ll have so much time to—”

“Adam, honey, I’m really not sure this can wait another six months.”

“It’s never going to seem like the perfect time for this, and it’s always going to seem impossible. But nothing is impossible. The word itself is saying ‘I’m possible.’ I say we do the scary thing first, and get scared later!”

“Delia. I’m scared right now. I’m always scared. I still feel like I’m not old enough to watch R-rated movies.”

“Adam, fear has two meanings: fear everything and run, or fear everything and _rise._ The choice is yours.”

“Guys. Focus.” Barbara snapped. “We can talk about the timeline later. I think everyone will feel a bit better if we make some sort of plan.”

“Perfect.” Charles stopped his pacing, choosing to stand behind Barbara, his hands uneasily gripping the back of her chair. It became evident to him over these past months that he and Barbara were, somehow, the ones truly running the show. Barbara, as much as she looked like the human version of a kitten, equally rivaled him in his steadiness and determination. Pair that steadiness and determination with her exuberant warmth and kindness, and Lydia—or anyone, really—could be talked down and out of almost any heightened emotional state they found themselves in. Barbara, time and time again, helped put and keep everyone’s feet firmly on the ground. Regarding the other two, Delia was, well, Delia. And Adam, although he was just as warm and kind as his wife, he was easily flustered and manipulated into following Delia down whatever rabbit hole she was careening through at breakneck speed, as evidenced by this early morning conversation.

“What are our thoughts?” Charles asked, trying to assist Barbara in pulling Delia and Adam back into reality.

“Well, my thoughts right about now are to fear everything and run, but apparently, I’m not allowed to do that!”

“I _said_ the choice is yours!”

And outside of reality the Wonder Twins shall remain.

“I’m thinking about how spectacularly you’re all falling apart.” Lydia quipped, not removing her delighted and amused gaze from the pair.

Charles scrubbed a hand over his face, trying his best not to scream. “Barbara, anything? Please?”

The woman tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table.

“What happens if we need to get rid of him?”

“Rude.” Lydia remarked, her gaze unmoving.

“Sorry.” Barbara replied, rubbing at her temple. “But what happens if things get dangerous, and he needs to go?”

“What if we open up one of those door thingies, and someone pushes him through it?” Delia suggested, ever optimistic.

“But what stops him from coming right back out? Perhaps we can hire a _real_ exorcist.” Charles replied pointedly.

“Charles, I’m not sure if any exorcist would be strong enough to take him.” Barbara answered.

“And who’s to say that the exorcist wouldn’t hurt Adam and Barbara?” Delia remarked. “What would we even say? ‘Hi, yes we have a demon we’d love you to get rid of but we also have two ghosts we’d love to keep. Don’t mess that up!’”

Lydia giggled. While Delia looked rather pleased with herself that she had gotten her stepdaughter to laugh, Charles looked up at his daughter heatedly.

“Oh yeah, Lydia? You think this is all so funny? What are your thoughts, then, since this was all your idea in the first place?”

“Honestly? I think you’re all worrying over nothing. After I—after he died, I think he realized he was being ridiculous. I don’t think he’ll ever be like he was before. He said it himself, he had enough of being alive. And besides, I can handle him. You know that. Trust me.”

Charles looked at his daughter, who was now on her third cup of coffee that morning, which that itself is a problem he would have to tackle another time. Beside her sat Adam and Barbara, who, according to the stories he was told, were so ready to trust and believe in his daughter after mere _minutes_ of meeting her, while that was something he was still struggling to do after sixteen _years_. And why? He knew she was determined, and strong, and remarkably intelligent. Just like her mother. To his own surprise, Charles began to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, collecting himself amidst the dumbfounded and concerned faces before him. “I was just thinking about Emily.” Lydia grinned eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I know that she’d be all for summoning a demon into our home. Hell, she probably would’ve summoned him herself by now.”

Everyone laughed, despite themselves.

“Welp, that settles it!” Delia gushed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Take it away, Lydia!”

“Wait, what?!”

“Delia, please!”

“Lydia, sweetie, hold on a second!”

Before anyone could stall any longer, Lydia bolted up and ran out into the living room.

“Beetlejuice.”

Charles rushed over with Delia in tow, each protectively grabbing one of her shoulders.

“Beetlejuice.”

Barbara and Adam ran, laying delicate hands on each of her arms.

“Beetlejuice.”

Thunder crashed and lightning struck, the overhead sparks abruptly illuminating the sudden pitch darkness. Her dad might’ve called her name, and maybe Adam threw an arm in front of her, she wasn’t sure.

The world quieted once more and the darkness was swept away as quickly as it came. She looked up.

“Didja miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> SURPRISE, SHAWTY!
> 
> Also the beginning of this chapter was mainly me just fulfilling my self-indulgent needs. Also we love Delia just being like "Fuck it, YEET!"


	15. Chapter 15

“Beej!”

Lydia ran forward, breaking away from the horrified group of adults.

“Hey, Scarecrow.”

Lydia wrapped her arms around his midsection. After a brief moment, Beetlejuice reached down to give Lydia a stiff pat on the back.

“I was wondering if you’d even come back.”

“Of course I would, Lyds. Especially with Babs and Sexy waitin’ for me. A-Dog, B-Town, lookin’ good, as always.”

“Hello, Beetlejuice.” Adam replied crossly.

“Chuck, Duck, it’s a pleasure.”

“Did you just call Delia ‘Duck?’” Lydia asked incredulously.

“We didn’t hang out much.”

“Okay, but that’s not even close to being a plausible name. Like, at all.”

“Fucking bite me. Anyway, what’s with the summoning? Did all of the above-eighteen-years-of-age members of the household finally decide they’re ready for the best orgy of their lives?” Beetlejuice took a step forward to address the adults, cupping a hand around his mouth to stage whisper. “Don’t worry, we can toss Lyds in the playpen for a few hours.”

“Playpen? Dude, I’m sixteen.”

“Yeah, well, in the grand scheme of the entirety of existence, you might as well still be a sperm swimming around in Chuck’s left nad.”

“Gross. Anyway, sorry to break it to you, but that was not the reason you were summoned.”

“Well, we can make it the reason I was summoned.” Beetlejuice wiggled his eyebrows, eyeing Adam hungrily.

Lydia punched him in the arm.

“Ok, first of all, cut that shit out. Everyone in this house is happily married and not looking for a sexual relationship with a demon like, at all. Ever. It’s creepy, and not funny, and it’s not gonna make anyone like you any quicker if you keep doing it.”

“Okay, ouch. But I’d like to point out that not everyone is happily married. Our marriage? _Very_ unhappy.”

Charles took a step forward and placed his hands protectively on his daughter’s shoulders, pulling her back towards him.

“The…marriage. That’s not still valid, is it?”

“Nah. It was barely valid to begin with. And once little Miss Child Bride became little Miss Child _Murderer_ , it was null and void.”

“About that…” Lydia began, breaking away from her father’s grasp and walking back towards her friend. “I’m sorry about killing you. It seemed like the only way. And maybe it was. I dunno. But that still doesn’t mean that I enjoyed doing it.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid.” Beetlejuice returned her arm punch from before, although landing his much more lightly. “I was outta control. I deserved it. Besides, bein’ alive’s overrated anyway. Fuckin’ sucked. You did me a solid. I mean, _I_ think murder is pretty fuckin’ fun, but we can agree to disagree.

“So! Why am I here? Is there a pickle jar you guys can’t get open? You guys want me to join in on your little pajama party? Which, if I may say, you all look real fuckin’ cute, by the way. ‘Cept for you, Lyds. You look like a raccoon that dug through the dumpster behind a Goodwill. Like an old, shitty Goodwill that’s in a dingy strip mall in some stupid, suburban college town where half of the stuff has pubic lice crawling all over it. Whether the pubic lice comes from the college kids or the chain smoking single moms that dump their old clothes there, I’m not so sure.”

Charles adjusted his always serious sleepwear in order to preserve some dignity, and Delia pulled her robe over herself as Adam wrapped his arms around his midsection, both feeling very exposed. Barbara stared down the demon with crossed arms, making a mental note to make sure Lydia washes her clothing the next time she makes a purchase from Goodwill. Lydia just giggled.

“Dude, you’re like the poster child for Goodwill rejects.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“ _Anyway_ , answer my fucking question before I yeet your vertically-challenged ass into a dumpster behind an old, shitty Goodwill that’s in a dingy strip mall in some stupid, suburban college town that’s home to a large population of pubic lice of unknown origins.”

“I summoned you because I missed you. You’re my friend, Beej. I want you around. And it’s getting pretty boring causing chaos by myself.”

“Back atcha, buckaroo. So how’d you convince this dream team of mommies and daddies to let me back in?”

“It’s a long, painful story that I’m sure my daughter will divulge to you another time. I would like to establish some ground rules before this conversation is thrown completely off the rails.”

“And into the dumpster of a shitty, college town strip mall Goodwill that’s bursting at the seams with pubic lice of unconfirmed sources?”

“First,” Charles began, wondering whether he was going to mix bourbon, brandy, scotch, or tequila into his morning coffee, “You are not to touch any member of the household without their consent. You are to keep unwanted sexual advances to a nonexistent minimum.”

“How do you know they’re unwanted?”

“Dude, they’re all unwanted.” Lydia interjected.

“Second, any time you spend with my daughter will be supervised until further notice. After that, it is strictly an open door policy when you are with Lydia.”

“Dad, c’mon, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Well, buckle up buttercup, ‘cause we’ve got _four._ ”

“Speaking of doors, you are to knock on any closed door before entering _and_ wait until the occupants let you in.”

“Ah, stopping me from barging in immediately after knocking. Smart.”

“And,” Delia interjected, scanning the demon with her eyes. “I think it might be a good idea if you…clean up a bit…and start showering and brushing your teeth on a regular schedule. I can get you a toothbrush and you can take care of yourself in the bathroom while we all get changed. I can throw your suit in the laundry if you’d like.”

“Listen, sweetcheeks, I can technically snap my fingers and be clean as a whistle. Which, come to think of it, whistles really aren’t that clean, with everyone spittin’ in them all day. Which is pretty similar to my constant state of existence. Anyway, I’ll humor you and shower and perform a blowjob on a toothbrush, any excuse to get naked and practice my oral sex skills. But I can take care of my suit. It’s not like you see these delicious little squares doing laundry.” Beetlejuice threw a thumb in the Maitlands’ direction before his face fell.

“Please tell me you guys aren’t still doing laundry.”

At the sudden attention from Beetlejuice, Adam startled, stepping slightly behind his wife, who remained strongly planted in place, her arms crossed firmly.

“No, we don’t do laundry.”

“Oh thank _fuck!_ ”

“Also,” Charles continued. “No following Lydia to school. You are only to spend time with her in this house, which you will respect by cleaning up after yourself and causing absolutely zero property damage.”

“I was summoned within these four walls. Once you’re summoned or you die in a specific place, you’re rooted to it forever. Can’t leave unless I want to pay the Netherworld a little visit.”

Charles let out a deep sigh, wondering if he could find some absinthe to put in his morning coffee.

“Are there any other rules anyone would like to add?”

After a moment, Beetlejuice spoke up.

“Actually, yeah. If anyone’s got a problem with me, come and speak to me to my face. No behind-my-back bullshit.”

The adults looked to each other, puzzled. All except for Delia, who looked absolutely delighted.

“That’s a wonderful rule! And I think it should apply to _everyone_ in his house. Everyone is worthy of clear, open, and honest conversations!”

Charles scrubbed a hand over his face, grumbling.

“Fine. All of us coexisting in this household is a two way street, I suppose.”

“Really it’s a six way street, which is just terrible infrastructure.” Beetlejuice added.

“I’d like to add a rule, if I may.” Adam stammered.

“The floor is yours, Sexy.”

“Well, actually, it’s an amendment to an already preexisting rule, now that I think about it.”

“I have no clue what any of those words mean, but please continue.”

“I’d prefer if it was an open door policy _regardless_ of who is spending time with Beetlejuice.”

“Whatever you want, A-Dog.”

“Anyone else?” Charles asked.

“No loud noises after nine P.M.?” Barbara suggested.

“Geez, Barb.” Lydia groaned. “Nine P.M.? We don’t live in a retirement home.”

Barbara shot Lydia a stern, unappreciative glance that even made Beetlejuice flinch. Lydia shot back a lopsided smirk. And, despite her best attempts to fight it, a big, amused smile slowly crept across Barbara’s face. Yup. Lydia had these losers _whipped._

“Fine. Ten.”

“Midnight.” Lydia quipped confidently.

“Ten.”

“Eleven?”

“Ten, Lydia. You’re not the only one who lives in this house.”

“Fine.” She groaned. After a moment, the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. “How about midnight on the weekends?”

“I think your father has the final say about how late you stay up.”

“I think eleven-thirty is a good compromise.”

“Geez, Chucky, the girl is sixteen. Does she really need a bedtime set by Daddy?”

“Yes, Mr. Juice. When it comes to her health and ability to learn in school, she does. I am, however, willing to be more lenient on weekends. But, as Barbara so wonderfully brought up, there are multiple residents of this household. So, in actuality, it’s more of a bedtime for the adults.”

“Huh.” Lydia muttered. “I guess we do live in a retirement home.”

“Ten o’clock on weekdays, eleven-thirty on weekends.” Charles continued, choosing to pick his battles and ignore his daughter’s remark.

“Charles, isn’t eleven-thirty too late for a school night?”

“Delia, eleven-thirty is for weekends, ten o’clock is for school nights.”

“I thought it was nine on school nights?”

“That was negotiated up to ten.” Adam reminded.

“How about we write this all down?” Barbara pleaded, her hands held up in exasperation.

“ _Excellent_ idea, Barbara!” Delia beamed. “Writing everything down ensures that all expectations remain clear and consistent!”

Beetlejuice peered out of the corner of his eye at his stupid little friend, who was very obviously chewing on the inside of her lip to stop herself from dissolving into laughter, actively avoiding Beetlejuice’s gaze. He elbowed her. Without removing her eyes from the floor, she kicked him in the shin. Hard.

Charles sighed at the spectacle before him, deflating. Silently, he waved his hand, motioning for everyone to follow him up the stairs. As they ascended, Beetlejuice shot Lydia a confused look.

“His office.” She mouthed.

“Ooooh.” Beetlejuice feigned excitement, wiggling his fingers. Lydia slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, her shoulders shaking.

Once inside, Charles strode behind a stately, wooden desk, taking a seat and withdrawing a legal pad from one of the drawers, clicking his pen. Delia glided in behind him, laying her hands reassuringly on his arms, peering over his shoulders. In front of his desk stood Adam, who had one arm draped stiffly around his wife’s midsection. Beetlejuice wouldn’t mind draping his own arm around her slender waist, but not only is that not allowed, he’d also probably get a nice, swift drop-kicking from Babs, who still had her arms crossed. Beetlejuice wished she’d uncross them, if you know what he means. Lydia gave a small, graceful hop, electing to sit on the corner of the desk, which gave her the option to stare at the gray walls and black out. In the middle of everyone stood Beetlejuice.

“One.” Charles began, a vein lightly beginning to pop out of his forehead. “No touching others without consent. Absolutely no unwanted sexual advances. Respect the privacy of everyone in this house.”

Beetlejuice watched Chares’ pen fly along the page, leaving tiny, yet impeccably neat letters and words in its wake. Damn, he was fast.

“Second, any time Lydia spends with Beetlejuice will be supervised by an adult until further notice. Afterwards, time spent together will fall under an open door policy. Any time any adult spends with Beetlejuice shall fall under an open door policy as well, to that adult’s discretion. Furthermore, any time spent with Lydia shall remain within the walls of this home.”

“Chuck, I already told ya, I’m stuck—”

“I know.” Charles replied curtly. “But I’d like all bases covered in the event that you find some sort of loophole.”

“I like how you think, buddy.”

“Third, this home and the contents within it shall be respected at all times. No property damage shall occur, and occupants will clean up after themselves. ‘Cleaning up after themselves’ shall be defined as leaving the space they are inhabiting as clean, if not cleaner, than it was before.”

At this, Adam nodded his head vigorously and intently. Beetlejuice shook his head, shooting a glance at Lydia, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall. He elbowed her, which took her by surprise, as she scrambled to grip onto the desk’s edges, just catching herself from falling to the floor. Charles sighed.

“Four, no harm shall come to _any_ inhabitant of the house, alive or otherwise. This includes, but is not limited to, stabbings, killer game shows, playful shoves, and exorcisms.”

Beetlejuice turned his head at movement in his periphery. Adam reached his free hand around his wife, pulling her in close and placing a gentle, silent kiss atop Barbara’s golden head. Beetlejuice felt a pang below his ribs, but it wasn’t the pang that he felt when being summoned, or a pang that signaled the glorious beginnings of a boner. No. This one felt bad. And icky. The feeling sat, all thick and soupy, in the pit of his stomach. This one hurt.

“Five, any inhabitants who do not already have a regular hygiene schedule begin following one in the form of showering, toothbrushing, and otherwise keeping clothes clean and sanitary.”

“Yeah Lyds, you fucking raccoon.”

“Six,” Charles interrupted with a slightly raised voice, wishing to finish this tortuous experience and go back to bed. “No loud noises past the time of ten o’clock P.M. on nights Sunday to Thursday, and eleven-thirty P.M. on Friday and Saturday nights.” Charles cleared his throat, seemingly done with his list.

“Yo, Chuck, what about—”

“Seven,” he continued, not looking up from the paper. “Any discrepancies, problems, concerns, and otherwise negative issues shall be verbally expressed to the offender.”

“Openly, honestly, and without judgement.” Delia interjected.

“…openly, honestly, and without judgement.” Charles added. “Anything else?”

“What if we want to add any rules or change anything? It only seems fair that we all agree on any additional items.” Adam asked quietly, still holding his wife tenderly.

“Eight,” Charles sighed. “Any additions to this list shall be discussed during a household meeting where all members are present. Furthermore, this list is to never be destroyed or damaged in any way, and it shall not be moved from its predetermined, accessible location. Anything else?”

The Maitlands looked to each other with questioning looks, shaking their heads lightly when they both somehow seemed to agree without speaking a word. Telepathic couple shit. Gross. Lydia, eyes still trained on the opposite wall, shrugged. Delia whispered encouragingly to her husband, something about how the shitty, flimsy piece of paper looked “dazzling.”

“Sounds solid, daddy-o.”

“Great, then—”

“Actually, Charles, should we all sign it?” Adam questioned sheepishly.

Charles leaned back into his tall, leather chair, tapping his pen to his chin, pondering Adam’s words. Beetlejuice heard Lydia draw in a very deep inhale and blow a long, pained exhale through her lips, trying hard to swallow any laughter that was threatening to escape from her chest, her mouth all wobbly and curvy from a smile that was just itching to break through.

“Lydia, I just heard your beautiful breathing exercises! Good work!” Delia cheered.

Lydia let out a full guffaw of laughter, her cackles echoing off the stark walls of the small room.

“Care to share what you find about all this so humorous?” Charles grumbled angrily.

Lydia continued to giggle, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. “I’m sorry, but these two are such dweebs and I can’t contain it anymore.” Delia let out a breathy chuckle, and Adam leaned forward to catch Lydia’s gaze.

“Oh yeah, who’s the bigger dweeb?” he asked playfully.

“Oh, definitely you. You’re the dweebiest person I’ve ever met. King of dweebs.”

Adam threw her a wink, and Barbara stared at the pair so lovingly, with a small, warm smile on her soft lips. God/Satan, what Beetlejuice would give to be at the receiving end of Barbara’s beautiful attention.

“Nine,” Charles called, reigning the remaining five back into the task at hand. “By signing below, the individuals to which these signatures belong agree to follow all the rules contained in this document, and therefore agree and understand that by the addition of their signatures, this paper is now a legally binding contract. Any infractions upon the rules listed above shall result in a punishment decided upon by all members of the home during a household meeting.”

“Any excuse to make everything a business transaction. Nice, dad. You’re almost as much of a dweeb as Adam.” Lydia shot her gaze towards the ghost, quirking her eyebrows. “Almost.”

Charles flourished the pen along the bottom edge of the paper, the sharp squiggles he made somehow representing his name. He leaned back in his chair with an exhausted sigh, passing the pen behind him to his wife, who made her mark on the paper with fluttery, looping letters, the D’s that began both her first and last name making large, artistic statements.

“Ha. Double D. Nice, Doula.”

Lydia took the pen from her stepmom’s outreaching hand, haphazardly scribbling her name on the paper before passing it to Beetlejuice, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. Beetlejuice leaned forward as Charles turned the paper to face him. His big, jarring letters spelled out BEETLEJUICE next to his BFFFF’s name. Not how he actually spelled his name, but good enough. He flicked the pen towards Barbara who took it gently and bent over to add her own small, delicate signature. Adam watched over his wife’s shoulder, his hand on the small of her back. Just a little bit lower, and he’d have a handful of Barbara’s spectacular ass. Beetlejuice couldn’t make any sexual advances, but no one said he could stop _thinking_ them. The little Poindexter fuck beamed at his wife as he grabbed the pen, adding his small, immaculately arranged signature next to Barbara’s. He handed everything back to Charles, who turned and slid the paper into some weird, back box that began to whir and buzz and beep as Charles pressed a myriad of buttons.

“I will be scanning this _and_ creating an additional paper copy that will be placed in an undisclosed, secure location.”

“Hey dad, when you put it in the fireproof lockbox, can you put it next to my birth certificate? I just want it to serve as a reminder that an infant can grow up to and become best friends with a literal demon from Hell.” Charles shot Lydia an angry, tense look. “What? I didn’t say _where_ you keep the fireproof lockbox.”

“This copy,” Charles continued as he stood. “Will be hung on the fridge so that it is accessible for everyone.”

“Hey, Chuck, you want me to add some hand turkeys and shit to hang on the fridge? Maybe I can get an A+ on an algebra test and you can put that up there too.”

“Charles?” Delia asked urgently. “Can we add a rule about approving fridge drawings before they’re displayed publicly?”

“Delia, I’m not creating a rule for crayon drawings in a house full of individuals who are sixteen years of age and older.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you have to stare at Beetlejuice and Lydia’s pictures of knives and giant spiders when you’re just trying to make your morning coffee.”

Charles walked briskly out the room. The group followed, trudging down the stairs with an air of defeat and disbelief that their lives (and afterlives) had come to this point. All except for Beetlejuice and Lydia, who nearly skipped down the stairs, merry as can be. Once in the kitchen, Charles pointedly tacked a magnet atop the paper for all to see.

“If no one else has anything they’d like to say,” Charles announced, rubbing his temple, “Then this conversation is over. Lydia, show Mr. Juice to the bathroom so he can…wash up.”

Beetlejuice held out his arm to Lydia. She took it, hooking her arm through the crook of his elbow.

“Lead the way, babes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Beetlejuice gets a talk about house rules and they have a household meeting to write them all down and sign a contract" trope just fucking GETS ME BRO. This chapter is pure, unfiltered chaos and I will absolutely not apologize. 
> 
> Also I was watching my previews boot the other night and the way Kerry Butler sings the line "Now I want in" in Barbara 2.0 before they changed it cured all my mental illness.


	16. Chapter 16

As Lydia and Beetlejuice rounded the corner, the adults trudged towards the table and dropped themselves into their chairs, defeated.

“I’m sorry I threw you all under the bus, but I don’t want that demon alone with Lydia quite yet, if at all.”

“No Charles, we understand. And agree.” Adam assured. “The question is, who’s taking the first shift?”

Everyone squirmed in their seats, actively avoiding each other’s gazes.

“This whole ‘supervision’ rule isn’t going to last, is it?” Charles sighed.

“Charles, Lydia and Beetlejuice are unsupervised right now as we speak.” Delia said.

“We should still try to uphold it for as long as we can.” Barbara interjected quickly, sensing that Charles was ready to drink himself into a coma. “You handled the majority of that conversation. Why don’t you go lay down and I can spend some time with them. I was planning to bake some cookies today, so I guess I’ll see if I can rope them into it.”

Charles let out yet another sigh. He reached for Barbara’s hand, giving it an appreciative squeeze.

“Barbara, you are a saint. Thank you.”

With that, the four adults deposited their dirty mugs into the sink and made their way up either one or two flights of stairs, depending on the person, to prepare for what was going to be a day beyond all comprehension.

“You know what you’re doing down here?” Lydia asked as she leaned on the wall outside the bathroom.

“Yes, Lydia, I know how to shower. Shampoo in hair, jerk off over the shower drain, don’t drop the soap unless you want the anal fucking of a lifetime, and take a swig of conditioner if you get thirsty. I got it.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Got it, my little dumbass in training. Meet you down here in ten minutes?”

“See if you can make it quicker and maybe we can get a minute without any ‘adult supervision.’” Lydia mimicked with air quotes, dropping her voice a few octaves to match her father’s.

“You do realize we’re currently without adult supervision, right? Besides, I know how to make ‘em break. Not enough where they’ll want to hire an exorcist, but enough where they’ll let us chill in your room with the door open. Who do you think our first victim will be? Personally, I hope it’s Darlene.”

“Whatever. Just go shower, and make it quick.”

“Your wish is my command, Goodwill Dumpster Princess.” Beetlejuice replied with a salute. Lydia smiled before turning and shutting the door, leaving him alone, surrounded in silence.

Beetlejuice kicked off his shoes and peeled off his clothing, leaving them in a heap on the floor. No use in folding the pile since he was about to put the clothing right back on. Not that he ever folded his clothing, anyway. Or knew how. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Sexy as always. He reached behind the shower curtain to turn the faucet, lazily waving his hand behind him in the general direction of his suit, ensuring that it was “clean” or whatever those breathers and newlydeads wanted.

He didn’t register what temperature the water was, not that he cared, really. Instead, he came face-to-face with two stupid, poofy bath sponge thingies: one pink, and one blue. Of course those sexy, enchanting tighty-whities still shower. But that’s the thing about showers, Beetlejuice supposed. You gotta keep up with them, or else you end up smelling like a rotting corpse.

Although his dick was already rock hard at the thought of the Maitlands in the shower, he decided against jerking off, wishing to adhere to Lydia’s request to “make it quick.” Besides, if he was going to be spending all this time in the house with those enticing little cock teases, he’d have plenty of time to whack it, considering he wasn’t allowed to touch them anymore. Which he guessed made sense. They didn’t seem to be all that appreciative.

As he reached for the blue sponge thingy (knowing full well that it belonged to Adam) and took a sip out of a curvy bottle (it tasted very sweet), he pondered the four scowling adults that stared back at him in the living room. Although he wanted the hot goss, he could hardly be curious as to how Lydia had convinced them to allow him back; Lydia was literally the smartest breather he met, smarter than all four of those sexy bozos combined. Plus, they’d do anything for her. Looking at her with their loving eyes and touching her with their gentle, affectionate hands, she had them absolutely whipped, even if Charles and Barbara liked to puff their chests and cross their arms all angry and important. Delilah and Sexy just stood there all flustered and jumpy and twitchy. It’s clear who runs the household. After Lydia, of course.

Having rubbed some sort of soap over his entire body, Beetlejuice turned off the faucet and stepped out. On the sink was a toothbrush and a towel that hadn’t been there before. Not that he needed a towel. He shook himself like a dog, just to prove a point. Smiling at the water dripping down the walls, he snapped his fingers, making it disappear. Loophole number one: it’s not property damage if you have to “clean up after yourself.” 

He grabbed the tube of white shit that he was pretty sure was toothpaste, globbing it all over the head of the toothbrush, watching it drip down onto the sink counter. He licked it up, ensuring to follow Chuck’s almighty rule of keeping the house clean. After running the toothbrush along his teeth for what felt like a sufficient amount of time, he swallowed the foamy, minty gunk, as well as sucking it off the bristles of the toothbrush until they were clean. He placed the toothbrush in some weird ass cup thingy that contained purple and gray toothbrushes identical to his. Except his was green. Ha ha.

After reaching for the door, remembering he was naked, getting dressed, and reaching for the door _again,_ he found little Lyds perched on the arm of the couch, greeting him with a smile. God/Satan, this little dumbass. When he said that he’d miss her most of all, he meant it. Breathers usually did nothing but piss him the fuck off, but she was _fun._ She was harsh, and bold, and merciless in her own special way, despite probably only weighing about twelve pounds. She was exciting and surprising, really fucking him up on the roof that day, when he thought he had an easy shot of being summoned in the bag. And most importantly, she outsmarted him. An entire eternity of existence and otherworldly powers were no match for a teenage girl from fucking _Connecticut_. So when he heard her voice say his name _twice_ one night before stopping herself, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she said it again, three magical, necessary times.

“Dude, you look the same. Did you even shower or did you just stand in there for eight minutes?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I showered _and_ brushed my teeth, plus I resisted the urge to jerk off. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.” She cautiously sniffed the air as he approached, nodding in satisfaction at the improvement of his scent. Like pavement after it rains and a pile of fall leaves.

“I can see that you upgraded your outfit from a dumpster behind a shitty, suburban college town Goodwill to a dumpster behind the Goodwill of upper-middle class, disproportionally white Winter River, Connecticut. Still probably full of pubic lice, though. So, where’s our ‘adult supervision?’”

Lydia eyed the staircase, an amused smile slowly creeping along her face.

“Coming down the stairs now at an alarming rate.” _This is gonna be good._

Beetlejuice turned, and was met with the sight of Barbara Maitland descending the staircase, eyebrow quirked, in both annoyance and suspicion. How she could fit so many emotions into one beautiful face, he’ll never know.

“Hi Barbara.” Lydia chirped. Beetlejuice stifled a laugh, watching Lydia’s hard exterior melt away in an instant. It’s like watching a puppy get all excited after its owner came home. Barbara’s gaze switched to Lydia, a lopsided smile forming. So loving. Yet also still suspicious.

“Hi Lydia.”

“Well if it isn’t the vice president of the Babysitter’s Club. You got stuck with the first shift?”

Barbara’s smile fell, side-eyeing Beetlejuice.

“No.” She huffed. “I was planning to bake some cookies today, and thought you guys would like to join me.”

“Do we have a choice?” Lydia sassed.

“Nope.”

“Alright, then, let’s get this shit show on the road.” Lydia slid off the armrest, leading the way.

“So,” Barbara began. “I was thinking some peanut butter cookies. Lydia, why don’t you get the bowl and a jar of peanut butter, and I’ll get the stuff from the fridge.”

“Don’t you need a recipe?” Lydia asked.

“Nope!” Barbara replied cheerily, tapping the side of her head with a delicate finger. “Got it all up here. I used to make them all the time with my grandma when I was a little girl.”

Beetlejuice jerked his head back. It’s strange to remember that Babs, with her tits and her ass that she was so desperately trying to angle away from Beetlejuice as she bent over in the fridge, had a whole life before now. Like obviously she did, she had to be alive in order to die. But she had a whole _life._ She was a baby, and a child, and a teenager, and she probably partied in college and got trashed and threw up on the sidewalk and she probably worked a job and drove a car and maybe one time she sat on a beach (hopefully in a bikini) and watched a sunrise or a sunset and she had all these things about her that Beetlejuice didn’t know.

“Oh shoot.” Barbara murmured, shaking Beetlejuice from his thoughts. “I should’ve taken the butter out before so it could soften.”

“Soften?” Beetlejuice asked, suddenly curious.

“Yes. When it’s cold, it’s too hard to mix properly. But when I try to put it in the microwave I always end up melting it a bit.”

“I know a lot about making soft things hard, but I could try to make a hard thing soft.” Beetlejuice grabbed the stick from Barbara, snapping his fingers in order to produce a small flame. He ran the flame gently along the length of the butter, handing it back to Barbara when he was done. She squeezed it cautiously.

“Uh, wow. It’s perfect. Thanks, Beetlejuice.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t handle her perfect blue eyes boring into him, all surprised and curious and confused. He desperately tried to find a way to fill the still air between them.

“Not a problem, babe. Hey Lyds, you look like a mouse climbing Everest trying to reach for the peanut butter. Speaking of Everest, _loads_ of dead bodies up there from people freezing to death or not having enough oxygen or getting altitude sickness from ascending too quickly. And they don’t notice they’re dead because all they want to do is get to the top, so their Handbooks get buried in all the snow and they usually don’t realize til it’s waaaay too late. And it’s nearly impossible for any breather to retrieve the bodies, so there they stay. Hell, some climbers even use the bodies as landmarks. The most famous one is this guy they call ‘Green Boots’ who died really close to the top. I think you can figure out how he got the nickname.”

“Oh gosh, wow. That’s depressing.”

“Sorry Babs,” Beetlejuice replied as he shoved Lydia aside, peering into the cabinet and securing the peanut butter without a problem. “It’s the truth. Ha! ‘Extra Virgin Olive Oil.’ That’s like you, Lyds! You’re an extra virgin because you’re the only virgin in this house! And as much as I wanna joke that Barbie and her husband never consummated their marriage, Adam is packed with way too much sex appeal to have never fucked.”

“Okay, this is venturing into a conversation I really don’t want to have.”

“Why, Lyds? You don’t wanna talk about how Adam and Barbara probably fuck each other every night right above your precious little head?”

“Barbara please for the love of God start talking about cookies before I stick forks in my ears.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted him here.”

“Lyds, she’s not denying it.”

_“Barbara what do I do with this butter?!”_

“Unwrap it and put it into the bowl and I’ll add the sugar.” She sighed, not wishing to prolong or even acknowledge this conversation.

“Hey, what about me?”

Barbara quirked an interested eyebrow. “Do you know how to use a measuring cup?”

“Um, of course I do!” Beetlejuice retorted, snatching the cup from her hands.

“Okay then, tell me where three-fourths of a cup is.”

Beetlejuice squinted hard, staring at all of the stupid little numbers and lines. When he found a three and a four, he shoved the measuring cup in her face.

“Ha! Right here!”

“Beetlejuice, that’s _one_ and three-fourths. Do you understand fractions?”

“You don’t need fractions or measuring cups when you’re dead, Barbara!”

She rolled her eyes. “Imagine I have a cake and I cut it into four pieces. If I ate three pieces, that would be three-fourths, because that’s three out of four parts of one whole. If I had _one_ and three-fourths, that would mean I ate one whole cake and three out of four parts of another.”

“Holy fuck, woman, where do you put it all?”

“Find three-fourths, Beetlejuice.”

He scanned the cup again, tapping it when he found the _other_ three and four.

“Good.” Barbara replied, carefully pouring in the sugar. “Now dump that into the bowl and find two-thirds for the brown sugar.”

“There’s different types of sugar?!”

The three worked somewhat harmoniously, fraction-ing and pouring and mixing the dough. Beetlejuice found himself watching intently as Barbara rolled the dough into balls and put little white-ass crisscross designs in the cookies with forks. Lydia decided to take an artistic approach and poke out little pictures, like ghosts and bugs and even one that vaguely resembled a Sandworm. And maybe Beetlejuice put a dick on one when Barbara wasn’t looking. As Barbara slid the cookie sheets into the oven with grace and ease, Lydia took stock of any collateral damage.

“Fuck, I got shit all over my sweatshirt.”

“Lydia, language.”

“Golly gee, I dirtied my finest apparel. I shall go change at once!” Before Barbara could get a word in edgewise, Lydia ran from the kitchen. Beetlejuice called after her.

“Hey Lyds, keep that up and I won’t be able to tell you and Adam apart!”

Beetlejuice turned, snickering to himself. Barbara busied herself around the kitchen, putting away ingredients. Beetlejuice always dreamed of being alone with Babs, but because he couldn’t touch her or profess to her how much _he_ wanted to fuck her every night above Lydia’s sleeping head, he looked for any way to fill the silence, remembering the sickly feeling he had earlier in Charles’s office.

“Hey, Babs, listen, sorry I tried to kill ya an’ all that. I’m sure you’re probably still mad about it and—”

Barbara wheeled around threateningly, charging right up to the demon, stopping inches away from his face.

“Do you realize how long Lydia blamed herself for that?” Barbara hissed. “She still blames herself for everything that happened. You took a grieving, broken little girl and you manipulated her until she had no choice but to commit _murder_ at the age of fifteen. I’d like to think you care about her, and you _hurt_ her. And you hurt the people she loves, which only hurts her _more._ So you don’t just owe me an apology, you owe every single person in this house an apology, _especially_ Lydia. And while I’m happy you’re capable of showing a tiny shred of remorse, it will never fix the damage you’ve done. But we can’t change the past, can we?”

“Hey Beej!” Lydia called as she bounded down the stairs. Barbara’s gaze lingered for one final moment before she turned back towards the sink.

“My dad wants us both to come upstairs. He says he has a question. This should be interesting.” Lydia entered the kitchen in a new, but still black, sweatshirt. “Barbara, do you need any help cleaning up in here?”

“No honey, I’m okay.” Barbara cooed, her voice back to its normal, human-version-of-a-kitten demeanor. “Go talk to your dad.”

“Okay, let us know when the cookies are done!” Lydia reached towards the ghost for a hug, which she readily returned.

“Will do, sweetheart.” Barbara held Lydia for an extra moment, squeezing her a little tighter before letting go.

“C’mon, Beej!” Lydia beckoned as she grabbed the doorframe and swung around the corner towards the stairs.

“Coming, Lyds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Babs really did THAT. 
> 
> Also, as funny as it is, I'm personally not the biggest fan of the trope where Beetlejuice doesn't know how to read or write or spell, but I do think he'd be lacking some basic knowledge because it isn't applicable when you're dead. Fractions? No. Measurement? Nope. Long division? I don't even know how to do that (I wish I was kidding).
> 
> Also Beetlejuice takes a shower!!! Love me some TROPES.


	17. Chapter 17

Beetlejuice struggled up the stairs, feeling like he had cinderblocks for shoes. Lydia, on the other hand, took the stairs two at a time, light as a feather. Which she pretty much was, given that Beetlejuice had lifted her in the past. That strange, thick feeling returned to the pit of his stomach. It had been alleviated for a split second, before Babs effectively ripped him a brand new asshole. Which would’ve been kinky as _fuck_ if it didn’t make Beetlejuice feel like absolute shit.

And as much as he wanted to argue it or ignore it as he usually did, swallowing his feelings and replacing them with grotesque, wildly sexual, and inappropriate conversation topics, he knew she was right.

 _Now look what you’ve done!_ Beetlejuice remembered snarling as he grabbed Lydia and spun her around, forcing her to look as Barbara hung in the air vacantly, Beetlejuice making her scream for dramatic effect. Lydia, her eyebrows arched in terror, her eyes frantically scanning the ground, weighed her nonexistent options, her entire body shaking.

Fuck. Barbara really was right.

He had to fix this. For Lydia. His first ever friend. His only friend, really. The one who was unique enough to see him without her being dead, or without him being summoned. She was special. That was for goddamn sure.

A black, tiny force had stopped him from walking. The resulting _thud_ that came from him walking into a Lydia who had recently _stopped_ walking shook him from his thoughts.

“Dude, you good?”

He looked up urgently, being met with furrowed, confused eyebrows.

“Me? Hell yeah, Lyds. Never better.”

“Then why’s your hair purple?”

Fuck.

Beetlejuice reached up instinctively, his fingers burrowing deep into his hair.

“Don’t worry about it, you little fucking earth worm.”

“Did something happen between you and Barbara while I was gone?”

Fuck. Why did she know _everything?!_

“Lydia.” A deep voice called from the doorway the duo found themselves parked in front of. “In here. _Now._ You know you’re not supposed to be unsupervised.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, her shoulders sagging with exasperation. She shot him a look that said _you’re not getting away with this._ But Beetlejuice knew he could distract her and make her forget about this conversation.

Probably.

Probably not.

Beetlejuice followed Lydia through the doorway, and was met with Charles sitting behind his desk and Darla standing behind him identical to this morning, only their adorable pajamas were nowhere to be found, instead replaced with a collared shirt and slacks and a flowy dress, respectively.

“Yes, daddy dearest?” Lydia said, her voice dripping with edge.

Choosing to ignore his daughter’s sass (smart man), Charles opened a drawer and reached into it, revealing two small, round bottles, one filled with a clear liquid, the other a deep, emerald green.

“Mr. Juice, care to explain to me what this is?”

“Hey, glad you found ‘em! I didn’t wanna leave them out in the open, since you guys let Lyds have free range of the house. You know teenagers, with their affinity for underage drinking so they can feel all edgy and grown-up and self-important and shit. But I didn’t wanna make it too difficult for ya, so I thought the drawer was the best place. Consider them a gift.”

Charles nodded slowly, taking an extra few seconds to process the barrage of information.

“And what exactly are these gifts?”

“Well, you seem like a classy guy, so the green shit is absinthe! But, I do know that Debbie knows how to party, so I gave her some Everclear. You’re both _very_ welcome.”

Delia opened her mouth, huffing out a confused breath before going on.

“Um, Mr. Beetlejuice, sir, not that we don’t appreciate it, but _why_ exactly did you gift us absinthe and Everclear?”

“Are you kidding me? You two should’ve seen your faces this morning! You look like you could use a good drink. Put it in some of your coffee. Or drink it straight. I dunno. You do you.”

“You do realize,” Charles drawled. “Both of these alcohols are very… _intense_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a very _intense_ guy.”

After a moment, Charles nodded to himself, his mouth flicking into a small, amused smile that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Well, uh, thank you, Mr. Juice. Although these are a bit strong for our tastes,” Charles shot Delia a scolding look as she reached for the Everclear. “We appreciate the sentiment.”

Beetlejuice barely had the time to pick his jaw up off the floor before Lydia tugged his arm, addressing her father and stepmother before pulling him out of the room.

“Okaydadthat’sgreatifyouneednaythingelsewe’llbedownstairswiththeMaitlands.”

Lydia practically ran into the hallway with Beetlejuice in tow, stopping a safe enough distance away from her father’s office to start laughing.

“Dude, you should’ve seen your face!” Lydia whispered delightedly. “I didn’t know Charles Deetz being nice was what I needed to make you shut the fuck up once in a while.”

Despite himself, Bettlejuice began to laugh as well, the little breather’s attitude proving rather infectious. He shoved her. She shoved him back, making him stumble a few steps backwards.

“Once we’re allowed to be alone for a few minutes without an adult up our ass, we’re discussing whatever happened between you and Barb in the kitchen while I was gone. But, unlike you, I can read social cues, so you’re safe. For now.”

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes, attempting to come off as nonchalant, hoping his hair wasn’t turning purple at the tips. He gestured grandly towards the stairs. “Whatever. Lead the way, almighty Dark One.”

Adam had been sitting in the living room, newspaper perched in front of his eyes as his wife forced Lydia and Beetlejuice to make cookies. He knew full well that both Barbara and Lydia could hold their own if need be regardless of the situation, probably better than he ever could. Yet he still couldn’t find it in himself to leave them _totally_ alone with the demon. Call him protective, or call him useless, not knowing what else to do once his wife had ventured into the kitchen and Charles and Delia shuffled themselves back to bed. He couldn’t say he blamed the two for wanting to bury themselves in the comforting dark of their covers and pretend, even if for a moment, that this wasn’t happening. However, Adam found himself much too antsy to do the same, so down the stairs he went, hoping to feel much less inadequate than he was currently feeling.

His knee bounced as he listened intently to the soft murmurs coming from the kitchen. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, it seemed pretty calm and under control. That didn’t make Adam feel any less on edge, that day’s front page news going unread. He startled as he heard Lydia clambering up the stairs, Beetlejuice calling after her:

“Hey Lyds, keep that up and I won’t be able to tell you and Adam apart!”

He felt the demon’s gaze linger on the back of his head for a moment. Adam didn’t turn around. Was it out of cowardice? Or a tactical, strategic move?

He heard Beetlejuice’s snickering travel back into the kitchen. Where he was alone. With Barbara. Adam stood urgently at the growing silence, knowing that the demon was probably leering at his wife’s bottom as she washed dishes in the sink.

“Hey, Babs, listen,” Adam froze, fists clenched. “Sorry I tried to kill ya an’ all that. I’m sure you’re probably still mad about it and—”

Something had stopped Beetlejuice in his tracks. Adam could hear the strangled gurgle in Beetlejuice’s throat as he so desperately attempted to cut his next syllable short. Barbara’s voice. She was mad. No. _Seething._ Reeling. Livid. What she was saying, however, was lost on him.

“Hey Beej!” A call from Lydia dropped Adam back into this seat on the couch, frantically grabbing for the newspaper he had thrown to the floor moments ago. She rounded the corner in the kitchen, and after a hearing something about going upstairs to speak with her father, Adam could hear Lydia and Beetlejuice stomping up the stairs. Slowly, he lowered the newspaper and crept into the kitchen.

He stood cautiously in the doorway. Barbara stood at the sink, but she did not move. Instead, she gripped the edge of the marble counter with such force, Adam thought she would rip it off.

“Barbara, my sunflower?”

Nothing. Slowly, he walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her chest, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss atop her beautiful crown, then another one on her soft, rosy cheek. Her hands remained gripping the countertop, her eyes were trained outside the window. Adam could see that she was biting the inside of her lip, working it between her teeth as she fumed. Adam smiled as he blew a chuckle out of his nose. Although they always tried their best to avoid confrontation while they were alive, occasional spats about organizing a shelf or ordering hobby supplies always popped up. And, although he couldn’t admit it to himself back then, Adam knew those squabbles were masking a conflict much deeper and more sinister by the way Barbara would bite her lip. He found it so hard to be angry at her when she did that. One corner of her bottom lip would cave in ever so slightly as she chewed on it, giving her this cute, pouty look that Adam didn’t mind to look at. He was just happy he wasn’t on the receiving end of it this time so he could actually enjoy it.

When Barbara didn’t return his smile, he unfurled his hold from around her, electing to instead rub her back, laying his free hand atop of one of hers when he was unsuccessful at prying her away from the countertop.

“Barbara, what happened?”

After a moment, she shook her head, tearing away from her husband to grab the dirtied bowls and utensils. Adam watched her as she began to wash the dishes, each movement accented with a staccato, powerful force. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbing the spare sponge and plunging his hands into the steaming water, his hip brushing hers as they worked in silence. Neither one had much of an affinity for the dishwasher, despite Adam having installed it himself, instead finding it much more efficient and timesaving to simply hand wash their dishes as they were dirtied, having them dried and put away long before the dishwasher would be done with them.

“He apologized to me.” Barbara finally spoke once she was able to find the words. “And there’s no way I can accept it. Not after everything he did that hurt our little g—that hurt Lydia.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that not only did he hurt her, but that he hurt _us._ All of us. Which only hurts Lydia even more. So I told him that he better fucking apologize to everyone, especially her. I mean, you heard what she said last night. She thinks all of this is somehow her fault, that’s she’s actually just as bad as, as that, that—”

Adam grabbed his wife, pulling her into a tight, albeit wet, embrace. She released a shrill sob into his chest, her shoulders shaking. All Adam could do was hold her, frantically searching for what to do next. He pulled back, cupping her face gently in his hands, the same way he did when they first realized they died. _Maybe nothing has to change_ he recalled himself saying. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I’m not sure what they’re doing upstairs with Charles, but I’m sure that they’ll be back down here eventually. How about you and I start that documentary we saw while we wait for them to come down.”

Barbara reached up to grab his hands, taking a deep, unnecessary breath to steady herself. She peered out of the doorway and towards the stairs. “Okay. I still think I need another minute, though. Can you see if you can hear what those two are up to? I’m not sure what Charles wanted, but I don’t want them sneaking around and trying to get away with being unsupervised.”

“Sure thing. Just give a shout if you need me.” With a quick peck on Barbara’s lips, he ventured back into the living room.

Adam rounded the corner, the gentle _oof_ that came from Lydia as he walked into her stopped him in his tracks. He gently grabbed her arms, rubbing his thumbs along them reassuringly.

“Oh! Sorry dear. Are you alright?”

“Yeah Adam, I’m good. First Beej, now you. I know I’m short but everyone in this house needs to watch where they’re going.”

Adam chuckled, letting her go. “You’re right. I’ll be more diligent.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Adam. Who uses the word _‘diligent’_ in casual conversation?”

“Dude.” Lydia argued. “You’re looking at the poster child for the type of people who use words like ‘diligent’ in a casual conversation. You kinda get used to it after a while. So anyway, Adam. I assume you’re the next one tasked with babysitting us?”

Adam chuckled again, stiffly reaching an arm around the teen, shuffling both of them into the living room, hoping to stop the pair from craning their necks to get a view of Barbara in the kitchen, allowing her a few more moments of privacy.

“I suppose so. There’s this documentary Barbara and I have been wanting to watch all about sea creatures, so I guess that makes _you_ the one who’s stuck starting up The Netflix.”

Adam reached towards Lydia, giving her an affectionate _boop_ on her nose. She waved him off, grabbing the remote.

“‘ _The_ Netflix?’ Adam, for the last time, it’s just ‘ _Netflix.’_ ”

“Yeah Adam, you sexy dumbass.”

Adam gave him a tense look over his shoulder before turning away and following Lydia to the couch. She sat on the middle cushion as she fiddled with the remote, Adam lowering himself gently to her right. As she scrolled through “The Netflix,” Adam reached for the blanket that was slung along the back of the couch, unfolding it and draping it over the little goth’s shoulders, who looked up at the ghost, beaming. Holy fucking shit. The girl who teased him, tricked him, shoved him off a roof, and quite literally stabbed him in the back was so easily lulled by two of the blandest saltines you’ll ever meet. Their constant affection was almost nauseating. Almost. It would be much more nauseating if it wasn’t so interesting. 

“Yo, Beej. You coming?”

Beetlejuice shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Fuck Lyds, keeping up with you is exhausting.” He walked towards the pair, weighing his seating options. There was the lone, remaining cushion to Lyds’ left, but Barbara would probably cut a bitch if he took it. Two identical armchairs sat to the right of the couch, both angled slightly inward towards each other with a small table between them. Beetlejuice recalled only a singular couch the last time he was terrorizing this household. Maybe Chuck got more seating once he realized it wouldn’t be just the three of them using the living room. Honestly, between the events the transpired with the floorboards and the sheer amount of undead who roamed these halls, it might as well be called the Dying Room instead.

Anyway, Beetlejuice chose to sit on the armchair closest to the couch, still allowing him to be close to Lydia, just with an entire Adam between them. As the ghost droned on and on about this goddamn documentary that was loading on the screen, Barbara drifted in, cautiously surveying the scene. And it was to Beetlejuice’s dismay that instead of seating herself on the couch, she chose instead to sit in the armchair next to Beetlejuice, casting him a sideways glance before returning her gaze to the TV.

Fuck. Can’t she give him a break?

As some stupid British asshole blabbered about swarms of jellyfish, Beetlejuice propped his elbow up on the armrest, dejectedly cradling his head in his hand. On the screen, peach colored jellyfish bobbed along ominously in the surf, their tentacles lacing together to create a foreboding web.

“Geez.” Lydia piped up. “I wonder what it would feel like to swim through that.” Adam nodded thoughtfully for a second before weighing in.

“Well, it would probably feel a little something like…” Before he finished his sentence, he reached both arms around the teen, jabbing one finger into each of her sides, releasing a rather convincing _bzz_ sound through his teeth. Caught off guard, Lydia squealed, writhing in the blanket that she was wrapped in, only tangling herself up further. Once Adam let up, she glared at him, her fake anger very unconvincing.

Beetlejuice jumped when a loud, high-pitched ding emitted from the kitchen. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, Barbara stood, and turned to make her way to the kitchen.

“Ooh, are the cookies done?” Lydia chirped, spinning herself to kneel over the back of the couch. Barbara chuckled lightly at the girl’s eagerness.

“Sounds like it to me.”

Like a feral animal, Lydia shrugged off the blanket and stood, swinging her legs over the back of the couch and landing on the floor, all in one swift, graceful motion. She followed Barbara, choosing to walk backwards for her last few steps so she could shoot Beetlejuice an amused, cocky look until she disappeared into the kitchen. Beetlejuice peered at the man sitting a mere two feet away from him, who was staring at the remote and picking at one of its buttons with deliberate intensity. As Beetlejuice broke the silence, he only stared at the remote harder.

“Does she…climb over the couch often?”

“Pretty often, yeah.” Adam replied, unfazed.

“Gotcha.”

The documentary continued to drawl in the background, becoming increasingly overwhelming.

“Hey, A-Dog, listen.” He felt like he nearly had to yell to be heard over this stupid bullshit. “I’m sorry about everything. Nearly getting your wife killed, _again_. Fucking around with you, even if you are irresistibly sexy. And just for, y’know, screwing everything up.”

Adam stopped picking at the remote button, only choosing to stare at it with the same intensity. After a moment, he picked his head up, the eye contact suddenly becoming Too Much.

“Are you apologizing because you really mean it, or because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do?”

Fuck. Of course Babs tattled about what happened in the kitchen, which left him with a very confused boner, may he add. Why did they have to make everything harder for him, both figuratively, and literally?

“No, I, uh, I mean it. Really. I know it hurt Lydia that way I treated you guys. And I’m still trying to figure out why you’re so mad about it all, aside from the whole trying-to-permanently-kill-your-wife thing, which, admittedly, really wasn’t cool. But you guys really don’t seem like the orgy-having type, so I guess I need to just let it go faster than a cold Disney princess. Well, not really the best metaphor, considering the cold never bothered her anyway. Whatever. But you’re still sexy. Both of ya. Just know that.”

Adam scrunched his cute little eyebrows together, nodding slowly as he processed the clusterfuck that was the past ten sentences.

“Thank you, Beetlejuice. I can’t say that I really forgive you necessarily, but I’m glad you’re attempting to do right by us. And by Lydia.”

“Mm-hm.” Beetlejuice responded, praying to whatever godforsaken entity would hear him that they could forget about this conversation. And the smell of freshly-baked peanut butter cookies was a pretty great distraction.

Lydia and Barbara sauntered their way back into the living room, cookies in hand. Barbara handed one to her husband with a peck on his lips before settling back down to nibble on hers. Lydia resumed her spot next to Adam, reaching over the ghost to pass a cookie to Beetlejuice with a wink. Ah. His dick cookie. And Babs had no idea. Nice.

And the group turned their attention towards the TV once more. Looming through the dark ocean floor was a frightening, ghastly thing, with beady, bulging eyes and spiny teeth that stuck out in all directions. It floated, with its fat, disproportionate body, searching for its next victim.

“Hey, Beej, where’d they get this video of you?”

Beetlejuice let out a loud cackle. “Good, one, Lyds! I can’t even be mad at you with that sick burn. What the fuck even is that thing?”

“Aren’t you listening? It’s an anglerfish. A female anglerfish. So not only are you ugly, but you’re an ugly bitch.”

“Lydia.” Adam warned.

“What? He is.”

The group settled into silence again, observing a silver, domineering shark, who glistened in the sunlight of the shallow water, its stripes gleaming in the light. Adam shuddered.

“Tiger sharks. They’re man eaters.”

The shark swam ominously, with its dark, unforgiving eyes and rows of threatening teeth.

“Hey Babs, look, it’s you!”

Adam and Lydia’s jaws practically hit the floor as they turned to observe the upcoming carnage from the almighty Babs. To everyone’s surprise, however, she chuckled lightly.

“And don’t you dare forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam giving Barbara the pet name "sunflower" is actually a headcanon that belongs to Thecootiefairy on here/maitlands_2.0 on Instagram. Wanna give credit where it's due.


	18. Chapter 18

Charles descended the stairs, the light indulgence of absinthe warming his chest. To his surprise, it was quiet. Nothing was on fire. No one was screaming.

In fact, he was greeted with the sight of his daughter and Adam bundled on the couch as a documentary hummed along, credits rolling. The demon, surprisingly, was sitting in an armchair, listening intently, it appeared. Barbara, however, was slumped over, her head on the armrest, seemingly asleep.

“Hi dad.”

Charles knew that tone. That was the sweet, deceiving tone that she used to get what she wanted. But as he peered over at Barbara, Charles decided that constant supervision was a hefty burden to place on everyone’s shoulders.

“Hi, Lydia.” He sighed. “Why don’t you and Beetlejuice go upstairs? _But keep the door open._ ”

“Charles. Are you sure about that?” Adam whispered as though Lydia wasn’t sitting right next to him.

“I’m not, but it seems to me like your wife is.” Charles threw a thumb in Barbara’s direction. Adam tilted his head, smiling tenderly at his sleeping beauty.

“Alright. Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

“C’mon, Beej!” Lydia leapt up, grabbing Beetlejuice by the wrist and whisking him up the stairs as he cackled all along the way.

“Eventful morning?” Charles asked, strolling over.

“Somewhat.” Adam said after a moment, rising and taking a seat next to his slumbering wife, placing a gentle hand upon her back. He glanced up the stairs, wondering if the best place for him to be was the attic. Close, but not too close.

“What’s the next episode about?” Charles questioned, gesturing towards the TV as he lowered himself onto the couch.

“Deserts.”

“Exciting. Count me in.”

Upstairs, Lydia sat cross-legged on her bed, and Beetlejuice took a seat at her desk, the chair tipping back as he kicked his feet up.

“Well, that was easier than I thought.” Beetlejuice quipped, throwing his head back now that he can finally relax.

“Sure…” Lydia drawled, skeptical. “Fuck, I wish I brought some snacks up here.”

Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and barbeque potato chips and Milk Duds appeared on Lydia’s lap.

“Sick.”

“So, babes, what’s on the agenda?”

“I dunno, I was thinking we could get started on those fridge drawings of knives and giant spiders that Delia was talking about before. I have some paper and colored pencils in the drawer right next to you.”

“Tormenting your family? Sign me up.”

“We’re not a—never mind.”

“No no no, you’re not a what, Lyds? You’re not a family? Please, I see how you all act around each other. With all the _hugs_ and the _attention_ and the ‘Hi, Barbara! Hi dad!’”

Lydia shifted, her eyes cast downwards.

“What, Lyds, did I hit a soft spot? I’m just pointing out the obvious. Any one of those sexy fucks would die for you in an instant.”

“One of them almost did, _remember_?”

“Yeah, yeah, but I apologized and—shit.”

Lydia straightened, delighted and intrigued. “So that’s what happened between you and Barb in the kitchen! Lemme guess, she didn’t take it well?”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“Fine. I won’t call them your _family_ if it bothers you so much, and we don’t talk about what happened between me and Babs. Deal?”

“Deal. I got the information I wanted anyway. Now get the paper and pencils so we can start drawing. And I call drawing the knives.”

The pair got to work, frantic scribbling filling the air.

“Speakin’ of those sexy fucks, Lyds, how’s it been these past few months livin’ with the Brady Bunch?”

She shrugged. “Good. For the most part.”

“But…?”

“I mean, it can be…a lot. I’m the main reason for existence for everyone in the house, but they mean well. There was also a point where I had to come clean about how I almost jumped off the roof, and to say that all hell broke loose is an understatement.

“Yikes, Lyds, how’d you fuck that up?”

“I accidentally let it slip in front of Adam and Barbara, and they basically said that they’d tell my dad if I didn’t. So I procrastinated for, like, three weeks, and _then_ I told him. On my birthday, no less. But it turned out fine. We go to therapy now. So that’s good, I guess.”

“Oh, Adam and Barbara. Y’know, when I said that I’d miss you the most, I was lying. I really missed _them_ the most.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re lying and you know it.”

“Maybe. But I’m sure they’re _thrilled_ that they finally have a baby in their nursery.”

Lydia furrowed her brows in confusion. She broke away from her drawing, tilting her head at her friend. “What?”

“They never told you?! Oh _shit_ Lyds. When I was watching them, y’know, before they died, they said that they wanted to make this room the nursery for when they had a baby. Guess they finally got their wish.”

Lydia looked back down. Beetlejuice began blabbering again, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. She bolted up, making her way to the attic.

After urgent knocks on their door, Barbara appeared in the doorway.

“Lydia, sweetie, is everything alright?”

“Can I come in?”

“Absolutely, hun.”

Lydia trudged in, Barbara shutting the door and following behind her. Adam looked up from his book.

“Lydia, hi. What seems to be the problem?”

Lydia stood in the middle of the attic, her thoughts swirling. Not knowing what to do with her arms, she crossed them in front of her chest. She looked up at the Maitlands. So soft and concerned, with their eyebrows arched and their heads tilted, waiting eagerly for Lydia’s answer.

“When were you going to tell me that my room was supposed to be your nursery?”

Barbara and Adam’s heads snapped towards each other. Adam swallowed, turning back to Lydia.

“Honestly, Lydia, we weren’t. Not because we wanted to hide anything from you, but because it wasn’t really a definite plan. I was just something we said in passing one day. How did you know?”

Lydia bit her lip, silently cursing the angry tears that began flowing down her face.

“When were you going to tell me that I was your Make-A-Wish baby? Your contingency kid?”

Barbara deflated, shaking her head.

“Lydia, no, that’s not what any of this is. You’re a grown, mature young woman, and we never, _ever_ meant to act in a way that felt patronizing. We love you, but we are in no way tying to replace or copy your parents. We just want what’s best for you.”

“Why do you get to decide what’s best for me? What makes you guys so special that makes you think you’re in charge of me?”

“We’re not in _charge_ of you, we just want to help you when you need it. We love you.”

“Lydia,” Adam started, firmly placing his book on the coffee table. “We understand that being the only young person in a house full of adults must be overwhelming, but please, tell us what got you so upset. Did Beetlejuice tell you that? How did he know?”

“Oh my God,” Barbara laid a delicate hand over her mouth. “When he said he was waiting for us to—when…everything…first happened, he must’ve seen more than we originally thought.”

Lydia shook her head. It was stupid, how she ran after them like some fucking puppy. And it was stupid, how often they threw her a bone.

“Don’t talk to me.” Lydia stormed out, slamming the door and stomping down the stairs and into her room.

“Hey, Lyds! How did Mommy and Daddy Maitland handle—whoa, whoa, Lyds, what happened up there?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out! Get out of my room! And _don’t_ call them that! I have a mom, and a dad! Get! Out!”

Beetlejuice was up in a flash, reeling backwards out of Lydia’s room until she slammed the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> uh oh.


	19. Chapter 19

Beetlejuice stood in the hallway, listening to Lydia’s shrill sobs come from the other side of her door.

“Lyds, listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“ _Go away_!”

No use in fighting a fight he was sure to lose. He deflated, looking around. The silent hallway stretched to a door at the end, a door that the Maitland’s slept behind many moons ago. On his other side, there sat the dreaded stairs to the dreaded attic that he wouldn’t _dare_ go near right now. Or ever again, maybe. He turned, slowly traipsing down to the living room.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and was met with the back of Charles’ head, who sat on the couch, intently invested in that stupid documentary series. But instead of sharks and anglerfish, there was a black scorpion, its threatening pinchers and stinger glistening in the desert sun.

“Hey, Chuck, look, it’s your daughter.”

Charles jumped, inhaling sharply. Once he registered who it was that called after him, he exhaled, chuckling slightly.

“I suppose so. Speaking of my daughter, where is she?”

“Oh, uh…she’s taking a nap. I tuckered her out, I guess. It’s a lot, keepin’ up with me, y’know?”

“Oh, I know.”

Beetlejuice exhaled anxiously. He just fucked over half of the members of the household. Big time. At least he could try to do _something_ right.

“Hey, Charlie, listen, I’m really sorry. About everything. Marrying your daughter, turning her into a child murderer, trashing your house, all of it. And I know that doesn’t fix anything that happened, but I mean it. Really.”

Charles cocked his head, his brows furrowing.

“Who put you up to this?”

Beetlejuice let out a bitter laugh. “What, I can’t be sorry on my own?”

“No, no, you can, but I feel as though you may have had a little… _encouragement_.”

“Who do you think?”

“Barbara?”

“Bingo, daddy-o. Not that I don’t mean it, but she can be real fucking scary when she wants to be. But I hope you know how lucky you are to have her. And A-Dog. They both love Lydia. A lot.”

“Wow, Mr. Juice. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say something sincere and nonsexual about the pair.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how you know it’s genuine. By the way, where’s Delia? I may as well get this all out while I’m in the mood.”

Charles stared at him, bewildered.

“Yeah, yeah, I knew her name was Delia all along. Shocking, I know. Now answer the question.”

“She’s in the backyard. I’m assuming, like Adam and Barbara, you’re able to go out there?”

“I sure hope so, or I’ll be outta your hair for the next few days.” Beetlejuice turned, making his way to the back door.

Beetlejuice stepped out into the backyard, shielding his face from the stupidly bright sun. Such a stark difference from the Netherworld. If he had retinas, they’d be burned to a crisp right now.

“Hello, Beetlejuice.”

Beetlejuice startled, spinning around. Delia sat in a chair with her eyes closed, cross-legged, her hands curled delicately on top of her knees. Surrounding her were a bunch of her stupid fucking rocks.

“Would you like to sit?”

As much as Beetlejuice wanted to stand over her and continue to look down her shirt, looming over her suddenly felt weird, so he plopped down, folding his legs like hers.

“Geez, Deels, ain’t ya freezin’ out here? Unless the Everclear’s warmin’ ya up.”

Her mouth curled into a small smile. She kept her eyes closed.

“No, I decided to save it for a special occasion. Is there a reason you came out here to see me?”

“Uh, yeah, look. I’m sorry for everything I did last time I was here. I know I hurt everyone, and that hurts Lydia, so I thought I’d come clean, I guess.”

“Barbara put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Fuck! Did she tell you too?!”

Despite the demon’s outburst, she giggled.

“No, I’ve just been living here long enough to know what goes on. But your vibes feel very sincere, so I appreciate your apology.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Beetlejuice grumbled. Despite the conversation ending there, Beetlejuice felt compelled to sit with Delia on the matching chairs, unable to move.

“Yo, D, what the fuck are you doing anyway?”

“I sensed negative energy in the house so I came out here to mediate. Did you and Lydia have a fight?”

“Shit, woman, do you know everything?!”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Beetlejuice deflated.

“No. Babs already forced my hand at apologizing to you guys. I, uh, I think this is something I should go at alone.”

“Understandable. Well, I hope you find this journey to be rewarding and fulfilling.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Beetlejuice stood and returned inside. In the living room, Charles sat, intently focused on some sort of stupid lizard that was darting across the screen. Beetlejuice peered up the stairs, knowing that there was no way he could face Lydia. Or the Maitlands. They all needed time to “cool off,” or whatever emotionally intelligent shit he could picture Delia saying. In the hallway was a slender, white door. Beetlejuice opened it, expecting a closet, but instead he was met with long, steep stairs. He followed them down, not having any other option.

The soles of his shoes tapped against the concrete flooring. Something about this room felt…strange, and that was saying something, since he was pretty inept at picking up on subtleties. He looked up, taking note of the beams of wood along the entirety of the ceiling, crossing over each other neatly. He cocked his head, noticing the patch of bright, light brown wood amidst the rest of the dark brown planks. They looked like recent repairs. Beetlejuice chuckled to himself. Adam probably came down here all the time to marvel about the structural integrity of the repairs and the quality of the wooden boards.

Then it hit him.

Adam probably never came down here.

Beetlejuice walked so he was underneath the section of the newer wood, surveying the ground beneath him. It looked as clean and uniform as the rest of the concrete floor. Crouching down, a quick sniff and lick confirmed what he already knew: breathers were _shit_ at fully erasing the traces of bloodstains. That, and both Maitlands were A-positive because of course they fucking were. He couldn’t wait to tell them that he could still taste the remnants of their blood.

Wait. Bad idea.

That was a secret probably best kept to himself. And maybe Lydia.

Wait. Also a bad idea.

At least he was learning.

He sighed, trudging over to a saggy, brown mustard-colored couch, sinking into it. Despite his best attempts, his mind wandered to the aforementioned losers and dipshit that he left on the upper floors. He pictured their faces, probably all red and tear-stained as they cried. Maybe Lydia threw herself onto her bed and cried into her pillow. Maybe Adam and Barbara held each other on their couch, gently sobbing into each other’s shoulders.

He _royally_ fucked up.

He thought Lydia would be happy to learn that she had fulfilled the Maitlands’ most private dreams.

He thought they were happy. They wanted kids, but didn’t really want kids, then they died and realized they wanted kids, then they got a kid.

That’s how they felt, right?

Lydia’s their kid now, right?

Beetlejuice shook his head. It was all so confusing, with all these unspoken boundaries and complex, nuanced social relationships. And he didn’t have the mental energy or capacity to sort through it all.

Not alone, anyway.


End file.
